#when he was a kid he just “THIS IS MY 'BEST FRIEND' AND IF YOU TRY AND BE HER BEST FRIEND I'LL KILL YOU”

[bi-writes]

Thinking about going into labor while your partner is on the way somewhere unimportant, who refuses to come home to help you. And instead of being alone and scared, you hang up and call up one of your childhood friends everyone thought you'd wind up with. Kyle shows up at your door, furious but does his best to hide it, and helps you through it all. Next day the father of your child has the audacity to show up like nothing is wrong to see Kyle holding your baby so you can take a well deserved nap.

he picks up on the third ring. you tremble, gripping the edge of the porcelain tub. when you finally hear his voice, just the sound of him soothes your beating heart, just a little.

"'ello, love."

"kyle?" you sniffle. his background quiets a bit. you hear a door close, and then he's a bit louder.

"hey, love. what's wrong? you sound upset."

"my water broke," you hiccup. "a-and i...i was in the bath...i-i..." you close your eyes. "i can't get out of the tub."

"jesus fucking christ." you whimper, but kyle just hums. "not you, baby. hey, you just relax, alright? you said you were in the bath. just relax, and i'll be there soon."

"kyle--"

"don't be scared," kyle chuckles, and you whine a little. "hey, you're gonna have a baby. you've been waiting for this, yeah? haven't you?"

"y-yeah..."

"aren't you excited? you always tell me how much you can't wait, right?"

"yeah..."

"don't be scared," kyle repeats. "you just relax. be happy. she's coming today!"

you smile, wiping your face a little, and when kyle hears your giggle, he sighs.

"good girl. you sit tight."

so you do. you lean against the side of the tub, and you rest in the warm water as you stare at your phone screen.

he won't answer the phone. he hasn't read your texts. he's not coming.

you hear the front door open and close, and then there's a gentle knock on the bathroom door. when kyle comes in, you try to cover up, moving your hands over your tits, embarrassed, but kyle just goes to look for a clean towel to help you out.

"it's okay, love, i won't look," kyle tells you. he smiles at you, cupping your face gently, and you look into his dark eyes. "you look so pretty. you're glowin', y'know that?" you smile through gentle tears, putting a hand over your belly, and you try to move, but it's no use. kyle drops the towel, kneeling, and you shake your head.

"i-i can't get out--" you gasp, and kyle rolls up his sleeves over his thick forearms, putting the towel over his shoulder before he reaches for you.

"it's alright. i'll get you out. i'll try not to look, okay?"

"i'm so embarrassed...i'm so sorry, kyle..." you sniffle.

"don't apologize, love. i got it. give me your hands, put 'em around me."

you lift up your wet arms, wrapping them around his neck. you press your chest against his, and he picks you up as you stand, helping you to your feet. as you cup your belly, he wraps the towel around you, covering you, and then he holds your hand as you step out of the tub.

"alright. now where's your bag, darling?"

kyle grabs your bag and supplies as you get dressed in your room. as you pull your socks on, kyle comes up behind you, smoothing your hair down your back before he starts to braid it. he used to braid your hair all the time when you were kids--he always said he wanted to practice for his sisters.

"you got the car seat, kyle?" you ask as he holds your hand, and he nods.

"mhm. in the car already."

"a-and the diaper bag?"

"in the boot."

"my extra clothes? and my...my stuff?"

"mhm. i got it, love. and whatever you forgot, i'll get it for you. alright, up, buckle in, that's a girl."

he holds your hand the entire way. you groan softly when a particularly painful contraction hits you, but when you squeeze kyle's hand, all he does is squeeze back. you take deep breaths, leaning your head back, and he hums.

"you're doing so well, love. so well."

"why..." your eyes water. you squeeze his hand again, and when you look down, your vision is blurry from your tears. "why didn't he answer? w-why...why doesn't he...w-why would he..."

"don't worry your pretty head about tha', love," kyle interrupts you gently. "only thing you need to worry about is you and her. i got it."

"o-okay."

she's beautiful. she looks more like you than her father, and kyle counts that blessing. she's got your eyes, your nose, your hair. her cheeks belong to her father, but she might as well be your twin, and when kyle takes her from you later that night, rocking her gently, he can really see up close how much she looks like you.

in the middle of the night, kyle holds your hand as you get up to go to the bathroom. your entire body is tender and sluggish, but kyle keeps you upright as you walk, kissing your head gently as he helps you take a seat on the toilet.

he even gets your underwear set up for you, with the big pad and everything, and he helps you step into it and slips them up and over your hips. you're a tearful mess as he does this, but kyle just presses his forehead against yours.

the look in his eyes, you will never forget it. the intensity. the commitment. the stability. every time you pick up the phone, kyle answers, and sometimes he's thousands of miles away. your own boyfriend can't even have the decency to answer when you're nine months pregnant--what did he fucking think the call was going to be about?

back in your room, kyle fits into the bed with you. he lets your rest your head on his chest, and when you ask him if he's going to go home, he tells you this is close enough.

in the morning, kyle's sitting outside your room with the baby. he's holding her, touching her little nose, letting you sleep in. you had a rough night, and when he found you still with your eyes closed that morning, he figured he would let you keep sleeping, just for an extra hour or so.

you deserve it.

"is that her?"

kyle's head turns with a snap. standing there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, is your pathetic excuse of a boyfriend. not man enough to answer the phone when you most needed him, not strong enough to do the right thing and marry you, and not wise enough to realize all he had to do was take care of you, and the world would be right again. you're not greedy. you don't ask for anything. all you want is to love and be loved, and kyle doesn't think that's too much to ask for, kyle thinks you're one of the most selfless women he's ever known, so why does this fucking bastard of a man get to call himself this girl's father?

kyle looks back down, fixing the blanket over your daughter's neck carefully. he thinks he did pretty good swaddling her this time, but you might have an opinion on it.

"i'm gonna say somethin', mate," kyle says lowly. "'n after i say it, y'r gonna do some thinking, real thinking."

he laughs a little, shaking his head.

"why don't you give me my baby, and get the fuck outta 'ere?"

kyle looks up and snickers, shaking his head. he gets a better grip on your daughter, sitting back, and he fixes your ex with a sinister smile.

"and what if i don't? you gonna take her from me?" kyle chuckles. "i'd love to see you try."

he stands, raising a brow.

"listen here, and listen close." kyle takes a step closer to him. "you're a right pile of shit comin' here thinking that you can just waltz right in and be daddy of the year, alright? what kind of man are you, eh? your girl in need, callin' you, and you don't even have the fuckin' balls to answer her? take a good look at your kid, mate, cause it's the last time you're ever gonna see her."

"no, i have the right--"

"to fuck right off," kyle snaps. "if i see you near her or her daughter ever again, i'll find you, and i'll make it worth your while, mate. make you feel real sorry finally, y'hear me? 'n when i take her back home, all of your junk better be out the flat. otherwise, i'll fucking burn it."

"kyle?"

your voice pulls him away. kyle adjusts the baby in his arm, going back inside, and he shuts the door behind him, finding your eyes. you reach for the baby, arms outstretched, and kyle easily sets her down in them, watching as you cradle the tiny thing into the crook of your neck and stroke the back of her neck.

the nurses come in and drop off a few papers. one stops, looking at kyle, giving him a big smile.

"congratulations," she tells him, and he smiles back at her. she takes a seat next to him, holding out a clipboard. "do you think i could get a few details? i just need to know mum's name, baby's name--"

kyle gives it to her. your birthplace. your birthday. your name. your baby's name. then she flips a paper over, putting her pen down.

"and dad's name?" she asks.

kyle sighs, leaning back in his chair. they don't give out birth certificates right away. you have to request it. you won't find out, not just yet, maybe he'll even pick it up for you. you'll be much too busy being mummy dearest.

"kyle," he tells her, flashing her that big smile. she blushes a little, writing it down. "kyle garrick."

he looks back at where you are, your eyes on him. you smile shyly when your eyes meet, and kyle leaves the nurse to come up to you and drape a hand behind your head. he strokes along your hair gently, thumbing at your temple.

"i heard you outside, kyle."

"did you?"

"and i heard you just now."

"mm."

you blink, reaching for the edge of his shirt, and you pull him down, further, until his face is nearly against yours.

"i guess i shouldn't be surprised," you say softly, reaching up to smooth a a few knuckles down his cheek. he leans into it, licking his lips, and you bite your lip. "you've always had a habit of...taking what doesn't belong to you, huh?"

kyle laughs. always the pretty boy, ever since you were little. one smile from him--kyle could get away with anything. anything at all.

"who says you don't belong to me?"

[buddyhollysbuddyholly]

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ﾟ. ELVIS VER. ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ﾟ.

All about ELVIS (pride themed)

Hes a cis guy, he's not like too deep into gender since he's comfortable with his own but he does understand it and does his best.

Hes GAY!!! Who would've guessed! He used to be very confused and almost angry at himself for being Homo especially in season 1 (kinda like JFK's questioning episode) but by the middle of season 2 he ignores the jock stereotypes and learns to accept himself.

He was drunk in episode one and had a deep talk with Gregory (my lovely wife's clone) and was like "shoot..I like him.." Though his parents always had a thought he would turn out, gay, and they tried to ignore it for as long as possible.

His parents are rich and barely around so of course his environments rocky. At school with his old friends their very much your typical jock guys who make gay jokes and stuff. When he gains new friends after season 1 (buddy, James dean etc) he becomes more accepting and his environment gets better.

Well me and my girlfriend were talking about our ideas for the clones and she was like "I dunno if I like Gregory and buddy together.." and I brought up Elvis and Gregory as a little joke but uh..that in fact did NOT stay a joke.

He doesn't mind labels, they respect others labels and would prefer if people respected his.

Not that I know of..maybe finding like straight like..videos erotic but other than that he's pretty confidant in his identity.

The idea that 1) the actual Elvis was considered a ladies man and 2) there is a lot of pressure from the other jocks and his own family to date a cute cheerleader (specifically Marie Antoinette)

Im not really sure..soooo NEXT!

yup! him and the gang usually go to parades and dress up for it, he's performed at one

he used to be really quiet and low-key about it, only kissing Gregory behind bleachers and at their homes, but now he's open and publicly shows his affection for Gregory

In season 1 he most definitely has internalized homophobia and transphobia (not to bad extents by they're there.) Hes able to move past it though and he acknowledges his faults

I don't think so, he doesn't really understand it and he also only has eyes for Gregory.

Hes not mine, but my girlfriend @waylonjenningswife oc (waylon I know ironic) is actually demi aroace!

None of them do, I don't think they'd really get them but they respect them!

I mean..I guess? if making actual people into clones and making them a part of the community counts

Not mine (again) but my girlfriends Marilyn and Bettie clones! (lesbians)

It depends on the oc but I personally like giving them labels just cause I feel it normalizes it more

i dunno about preference? But I usually show it as how it goes on in high school (since clone high..duh..) cause its not always so apparent ESPECIALLY with the popular kids its so annoying

they def did cause I was able to put how I feel about finding myself and etc into them and it helped lots

uhhh if you wanna know more about Elvis or my other ocs feel free to ask about them through my ask box!

🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈PRIDE THEMED OC ASK GAME🏳️‍🌈 🏳️‍⚧️

Bc I wanted one and didn't find it so. Here

[Send ask aimed at a specific character]

1. What's your oc's gender identity? What's their relationship to their gender?

2. What's your oc's orientation? (Romantic/sexual/platonic alterous ect) Do they have opinions about it?

3. How did your oc discover themself? Did something cause them to question, or did they always know?

4. Is your oc's environment supportive about their identity? How does this impact them?

5. How did you figure out your oc's identity?

6. How does your oc feel about labels? Theirs, or in general?

7. Is there something that could cause your oc to question their identity? What?

8. Have they had struggles with their identity, be it due to internal or external reasons?

9. Are there cultural or lore specific aspects to their identity? If applicable, does their species affect it?

10. Does your oc celebrate Pride? How?

11. Is your oc open about their identity? Are they more lowkey or more blunt about it? Why or why not?

12. Does/did your oc ever wish they could change the way they are? Why? If it's in the past, how did they get over the feeling? (this can be about internalized homo/transphobia)

13. Would your oc be open to a poly relationship? Why or why not?

[Not aimed at a specific character] / [Aimed at creator]

14. Do you have ocs on the aro or ace spectrum?

15. Do any of your ocs use neopronouns? Which ones?

16. Did you ever change an oc's identity when they were already established? Why?

17. Do you share identity with any of your ocs? Which ones?

18. Do you prefer to give your ocs specific labels, or keep it unspecified? Why? If applicable, do you change their labels depending on circumstance?

19. Do you have preferences about depicting homo/transphobia in your stories? What, and why? Does it vary by story?

20. Have your ocs helped you in self discovery? How?

21. Free ramble card wee

[mytherapyisreading14]

Drunk Confessions

Summary: You got drunk during a night out with your best friend and accidentally send your Professor a photo of you in lingerie. Now you try to avoid him, which is not really working.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Category: Smut (18+ MDNI)

Warnings: alcohol consumption, dirty talk, dom!spencer, semi-public sex, hair pulling, thigh riding, spanking, fingering, praise kink, multiple orgasms, oral sex (kinda, he comes in her mouth)

Word Count: 4,6k

Author’s Note: My last posts got so many likes, I didn’t expect that at all, thank you sm!! <3

Your alarm goes off - 8:30am. You groan. Your head is pounding and the sun shining into your room is just way too bright. Your stomach turns and you close your eyes to escape the wave of nausea. You slowly sit up and search for your phone on the nightstand. It feels like your head is going to explode. You reach out and unlock the screen, turning your alarm off.

It's way too early. And you drunk way too much last night. It was a chaotic but nice yesterday, a night full of laughter, way too much alcohol and karaoke. Your best friend celebrated her birthday and you promised to go to your favorite bar with her. You have to smile when you think back to the night and start checking your messages. You see that she already texted you this morning to find out how you are doing.

How are you?

I have the worst headache after last night

It was fun though, wanna go again tonight?

Just kidding, I feel like I need a week to recover from this

You can’t help but laugh and answer her quickly. You are about to put your phone away to finally get ready when a new chat catches your eye. You freeze in shock. It’s your Professors name. The one you’ve been crushing on since you saw him for the very first time.

Back when you found out that you were getting a new professor, you didn't expect much, a lecture like any other with someone who was only concerned with reciting his material. But then he entered. He came through the door and for a moment it seemed as if time stood still. The room, which had just been immersed in the murmur of conversation, suddenly became silent.

He was tall - taller than you expected and his presence filled the room in a way that you couldn't put into words. He wore a simple but elegant suit that somehow effortlessly fit him perfectly. His hair was a little longer, curly and fell slightly over his forehead. And then he looked up. His big, brown eyes met yours and in a split second everything became clear to you. You immediately knew you wanted, needed, this man.

Now you stare at the chat in complete horror. He recently gave you his number for a project. That's how this whole texting thing could even happen. Your heart is pounding in your chest. Obviously you can't remember texting him. You were so drunk yesterday that you can't even remember how you got home.

You open the chat - and your heart stops for a moment. It wasn't just a message that you sent him. It was a photo. Of you, in lingerie. It’s one of your favorite sets, you got it a couple of weeks ago. "I wore this for you today, Professor. Do you like it?” You wrote in addition to the photo.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. You just stare at the screen, the picture of you that you should never, ever, ever have sent. And the worst part: He read it. But didn't reply. Confusion and panic spreads through you. You jump out of bed, your feet barely finding purchase on the floor, and your heart keeps racing. You try to think clearly, but your thoughts are a complete mess.

You reach for your phone again and frantically tap on the chat with your best friend, but you pause and call her instead. "Hello?" Her voice still sounds sleepy and hungover. “Oh my God, I need your help!" you gasp and immediately start telling her everything.

The line is silent, then you hear a short laugh. "Wait a minute... what? You did that?" You close your eyes and search for the right words. But before you can say anything, it hits you like a blow. You also have a lecture with him today.

"I’m not coming today," you tell her. “You can't just cancel!" she says immediately, and you hear her getting herself settled in her bed. Her voice sounds determined, but also worried. "You know how it is, our seminar today. We can't miss it. We said that celebrating wouldn't stop us," she says. "Celebrating isn't what would stop me either. Seeing him definitely is," you say and lean back with a groan.

You close your eyes and sink even deeper into the pillows. Your stomach clenches when you think about it. She’s right, You really have to go today. But the text, the picture that you sent him - what if he wants to talk to you about it? Or worse, he reports the whole thing?

"I can't just sit in front of him today and pretend that everything is normal. I sent him a picture of me in lingerie... I can't face him. It's just... it's just too much!" There is silence on the other end of the line for a moment. She still hasn't said anything, and you know she's thinking. Then you hear her take a deep breath.

“Okay, the thing with the picture, that's really... a little crazy. But hey, you can skip the lecture. Just disappear after the seminar and then hide in your apartment. Or you can go and hope that when you run into him, he'll do completely different things after you seeing this photo. I bet you looked hot, was it the new set you recently bought?” she asks and you can hear her grin even though you're on the phone.

Obviously she knows about your crush on your professor. You couldn’t stop talking about him after your first lecture and she took every opportunity to tease you about it. You look at your phone as if it were the only thing that could help you think clearly. Of course she's right. You have to go to your seminar. And you can really skip his lecture. Still, the idea that he might be thinking about it makes your heart beat faster and not just in excitement.

“You're right, I... okay, I'll come," You say after a short pause, but the thought of maybe running into him still makes you nervous. “You'll see, it won't be as bad as you think. You'll get through the seminar, it's only an hour. And then we'll be out and we can take our time for everything else. And you'll just avoid your favorite professor today," she continues to teases.

“Today? More like forever," you mutter and finally get up, even though the thought of getting out of bed still paralyzes you. “See you soon then. I'll shower and get dressed now, then I'll come. Let’s meet outside the building, okay?" you ask. "Sure!" she calls out happily. "See you soon and don’t forget to wear another fancy set for your professor today. Just in case you run into him,” she jokes.

After you hang up you put the phone on the pillow and stand there for a moment, your legs heavy, your head still about to explode. But then you take a deep breath. It'll be fine, you just have get through the seminar. With a sigh, you go into the bathroom and take painkillers first. Then you start getting ready.

You turn on the water and let it run hot. A short time later, you go into the shower. The hot steam envelops you and slowly your body feels a little alive again. The nausea subsides and the hangover becomes more bearable. After the shower, you get dressed in peace - black skirt, a comfy sweater and your favorite sneakers. You quickly walk through the apartment again to make sure you packed everything and when you leave the house, you somehow feel less like a wreck.

-

The smell of freshly served pasta is still in your nose as you say goodbye. You got lunch together after your seminar and it was nice to get a little break and talk about everything that happened. Now you are ready to leave but you still have to go to the library to get a book that you need for your upcoming assignment first.

“I still have to go to the library," you tell her, pulling your bag over your shoulder. “Are you coming with me?” you ask her. “I’m sorry, I have to pick up my sister now. But be careful, you don’t want to run into your favorite professor, or do you?” she teases again. “I’m not going to run into him. I’ll hurry up and leave immediately. I’ll call you later. See you tomorrow," you say and give her a quick wave before you set off.

-

The campus is full of students rushing through the halls, carrying their books around or sitting in groups and discussing. You slip into the library and head straight to the section where the book you need is. Unfortunately it’s at the top of the shelf and you realize that you probably won't be able to reach it. You jump up a few times, but the distance between you and the book just seems too big. You sigh. If only you were a little taller.

As you attempt the jump for the third time, you suddenly feel a presence building behind you. One that seems familiar. Your heart beats faster and a nervous tremor takes hold of you. You turn around and stare straight into Professor Reid's eyes. He is standing just inches away from you and you can hear the soft sound of his breathing.

The look he gives you is almost piercing - warm, but somehow also searching. He leans forward slightly without saying a word and effortlessly grabs the book with one hand. You avoid his gaze as he hands it to you. “Thank you," you murmur, trying to hide the slight nervous tremor in your voice. He nods and stands still for a moment.

"You weren't at my lecture today." You stare at the book in your hands and feel your stomach clench. This is not good. “I..." you take a deep breath. "I haven't been feeling so good. My head..." He waits, his eyes still fixed on you, and you get the feeling that he wants to hear more. You feel his gaze on you and when you finally raise your eyes to look into his eyes, there is a silent understanding, and for a moment you wonder if there’s more. “Sick, or...?" he asks calmly. You hesitate and bite your lip.

"I went out partying with my best friend yesterday, it was her birthday… we drank a little bit too much and... well, I'm not feeling so good today. That’s why I skipped." His expression remains neutral, but something in his gaze changes. You can hardly believe it, but it's almost as if he's interested. He frowns slightly. "I understand," he then says. "But it's not ideal to miss class, especially when important topics are involved."

You nod. “I know, Professor. I won’t happen again.” You just want to get out of this situation, and as you try to take a step back he stops you. "No, wait. I need to talk to you." You pause and turn back to him. "About what? I don’t really have the time -" you begin, pretending you don't have any idea what he wants to talk about, when he cuts you off.

"Doesn’t matter, it’s important. We'll sort it out in my office." His gaze is intense as he steps towards you. The thought of him asking you to come to his office makes your heart beat faster. The idea of ​​being alone in a room with him is tempting. "Okay," you say quietly, unable to prevent a nervous tingling from spreading in your chest. You follow him, even though your legs feel like they're made of jelly.

He leads the way, his steps calm and determined, and you can barely keep your eyes from lingering on his back. As soon as you reach the door to his office, he opens it and lets you enter first. You step in, your heart now beating loudly in your ears. The moment he closes the door behind you, you realize that it is more than just a conversation about the seminar.

The look he is giving you now is not the look of a professor. It is the look of a man who wants more than just academic discussions at this moment. And the thought that you’re alone with him in this room inevitably leaves you nervous and intrigued at the same time.

As the door closes behind you, you’re left breathless for a moment. His office is quiet, almost too quiet, compared to the crowded hallways outside. The room is sparsely decorated, except for the desk covered with stacks of paper and a few personal items. He is still standing at the table, his arms loosely folded in front of his chest and looks at you.

"Sit down," he says calmly, pointing to the chair on the opposite of the desk. You hesitate, then finally sit down, your heart pounding in your chest. The nervous energy inside you grows as you try to organize your thoughts. Before he can say anything else, you can’t hold it back any longer. The words come out of you hastily, almost in a rush, and you feel your body tense.

"The picture, it was a mistake! I didn't mean to... It wasn't meant for you. I was drunk, and it was stupid of me, really. I'm sorry." You look at the table, avoiding his gaze. But as you say the last words, you immediately notice how the atmosphere in the room changes. He remains silent for a moment, but then his body language shifts slightly - his gaze becomes more intense, the tension between you almost tangible.

"Hmm," he says after a pause, his voice deep and calm, "so the picture wasn't meant for me?" You flinch when you hear his question. What exactly does he want to hear? What does he want to know from you? You try to stay calm and answer hesitantly.

"It... it's none of your business." His expression hardens instantly. "It is," he says, and his voice sounds sharper, more determined now. "Because you sent it to me." Your heart beats faster as he continues. "I don't think it was an accident, even if you were drunk. You wanted to send it to me. And you did."

A cold shiver runs down your spine. You open your mouth, trying to say something, but you can't find a way to defend yourself. Instead, you just stay still, looking at your hands, which are resting nervously on your lap.

He laughs quietly, a mocking, almost challenging laugh. "So you're really sure it was an accident, huh?" He slowly leans forward, rests his hands on the table and looks straight into your eyes. The look in his eyes has changed, and something in his expression shows you that he is the one in control.

"Do you really think I haven't noticed how you look at me in class? How you keep watching my hands? How you press your thighs together when I approach you?" His words hit you and you freeze for a moment. Your cheeks burn hot, you feel your heart pounding uncontrollably, but you keep quiet. Everything inside you screams to defend yourself, but you stay silent because you know he’s right.

"I noticed from the beginning, angel," he continues, and a shiver runs down your spine. You can’t believe he just called you that. It turns you on immensely. "I know you didn't just do it because of the party and the alcohol. You also sent it to me because you wanted to." He leans further forward, his presence overwhelming, and you can't help but feel small even as you try to assert yourself.

You open your mouth to say something, but the words stick in your throat. What could you say? That he's wrong? That would be a lie. “You sent it to me," he repeats, his voice now almost like a command. "Because you wanted to show me. And I don't think it was an accident. You were drunk, yes, but you wanted me to see you like this."

Your body is paralyzed. It feels like the room has suddenly become smaller. You can hardly breathe. His words and his look have completely captured you in that moment. “I... uh," you begin, but the thought that he is in control, that he sees you like this at this moment, leaves you speechless and you’re unable form a proper sentence.

He remains silent, only his eyes continue to focus on you. "You have to understand that you can't just play with me like that." His gaze becomes more intense, and for a moment it seems as if he wants to say more but then he slowly stands up, walks around the table and stops right in front of you.

"I'll show you something," he says in a calm but unmistakable voice. "And you will understand why it wasn't just an accident." Your heart beats faster. His hand reaches for your chin, lifting it up and tracing his thumb over your bottom lip. Your breath hitches and you lean closer, craving his touch. “Get up and lock the door for me,” he says and pulls his hand away slowly.

You do as your told immediately and when you turn around, he is sitting on his chair with his legs spread. He looks so hot and you desperately clench your thighs together to relief the pressure between your legs. “Good girl. Come here,” he says and pats his thigh. You shiver in excitement and when he notices a grin spreads across his face.

You go over to him and when you stand in front of him, he pulls you down into his lap. He leans forward to whisper into your ear “That’s what you wanted, right? To be my good girl. That’s why you send me that picture. You wanted to end up here,” he says and places his hands on your hips. You press yourself closer against him and inhale his scent, he smells like cinnamon, peppermint and aftershave, it’s addictive.

However, you get interrupt by his hand reaching into your hair to pull your head back. You gasp in surprise and he leans closer to you, looking deep into your eyes again. “I asked you a question. I expect an answer,” he says and you can feel yourself getting even wetter. “Yes, that’s true. I - I always wanted that,” you manage to say and he releases your hair, satisfied with your response.

Then he leans forward and you finally feel his lips against yours. It’s even better than you always imagined and you start to grind against his leg, desperate to release the friction between your legs. But Spencer quickly stops you. “Did I allow you to move?” he asks and you shake your head.

He sighs in disappointment but before he can say anything you quickly answer him. “No, you didn’t,” you say and his grip on your hips looses a little. “That’s right. I didn’t. And you’re not allowed to move until I tell you to. You’re going to listen to me and do exactly what your told, do you understand?” he asks. “I understand.”

“See, it’s not that hard. You listen to me, you behave and you’ll get your reward. Now, do you want to ride my thigh?” he asks, his hand slowly sliding behind your back to your ass, squeezing it. “Yes, please. Can I?” you ask and he leans forward to kiss you again, his tongue exploring your mouth. When he pulls back you can see his eyes sparkling with lust. “So polite, I like that. Yes, you can,” he says and you finally go back to moving against his thigh.

It feels good, so good and when Spencer starts to slide one hand under your shirt to grab your breasts you press closer against him. You can feel that you soaked your underwear trough and wearing only a skirt, you can already see a small wet stain on his pants. His gaze follows yours and he chuckles. “Someone’s needy,” he says and you nod, leaning against his chest, grinding down more against him.

“Spen - Spencer, I’m going to come,” you whimper but he pulls you back by your hair again. “It’s Sir for you, angel,” he says and you correct yourself immediately. “Please Sir, can I come on your thigh now?” you breath out and he grabs your hips again, stopping you.

“No, not yet,” he simply says and you whine when he stands up and you lose contact. “But I thought - “ you start but he doesn’t let you finish. He turns you around and pushes you down onto his desk. “Doesn’t matter what you thought. I decided I’m not letting you come yet,” he says and flips over your skirt to expose your underwear to him.

“I see, another pair then the ones you wore yesterday. I’ve got to admit, I prefer the other ones, but you look pretty anyway, angel,” he says, sliding his hands over your thighs and your ass. “Last night when you send me that picture, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he admits and you can feel your whole body reacting to his words.

A wave of confidence flashes through you. “Did I keep you up last night, Sir? Did you have to stroke your cock while you looked at my picture? Thinking about all the ways you want to fuck me?” you ask him and turn your head slightly back to look at him with a smirk on your face. His eyes darken and he tightens his grip.

“Oh you have no idea, angel. I’m going to show you exactly what I was thinking about last night,” And suddenly you feel a harsh smack on your ass. He just spanked you. And you liked it. Your breath hitches and you bit down on your lip to keep quiet. You don’t want anyone to find out what’s going on in here.

His hand strokes the spot he just hit before going further down to pull at your panties. He takes them off and stuffs them into his pocket. You are convinced you’re not going to get them back. Then you feel his long, slender fingers sliding between your legs before he presses onto your clit. You gasp in surprise and try to press against him but his grip on your hips is firm, holding you still.

Then he pushes two fingers inside you. “So fucking wet.” His eyes wander over your body down to your legs hungrily, appreciating every curve and every spot. “I’ve never seen such a pretty pussy. And it’s all mine now. You’re all mine now,” he says. The way his fingers move and the way he stares at you intensely feels just way too good.

When his thumb goes back to your clit, rubbing it in slow circles, you can feel how your orgasm builds up inside of you and you can no longer hold back your moans. “Spencer - Sir, feels so good. Please,… I need more,” You clench around his fingers and he quickly puts a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. “Shh, be quiet, angel. As much as I would love to hear all these lovely sounds you make, I don’t want to get interrupted. Not now, when I finally have you, after all this time.”

His fingers curl inside you and keep hitting your g -spot. You clench around them, he notices and chuckles. “Can I - please,” you stutter. “Yes angel,” he says, already knowing what you’re asking for and you come around his fingers. You never had such an intense orgasm from foreplay before, but you don’t mind. It’s even better than you always imagined.

He wants to give you a moment to recover but you want more. You somehow manage to turn around, even though your legs feel like they are going to give in any second and push yourself up on his desk. He looks surprised and opens his mouth to say something but you interrupt him by pulling him closer by his tie.

You wrap your hands around his neck and rank your fingers through his soft, brown hair before kissing him. You moan into his mouth and he groans, sending a shiver down your spine. “Thank you, Sir. That was amazing,” you say with a smirk on your face when you pull back. “Now is the time to lose your pants and relax, I want to return the favor.”

“As much as I want to see you down on your knees with your pretty lips wrapped around my cock, we don’t have much time left. Office hour starts in less than 30 minutes. And I need to fuck you. So drop it and spread your legs for me. Now,” he demands and you obliged, sitting further back on his desk with your legs spread.

He takes a step back and starts to unzip his dress pants. When he takes out his cock your eyes widen. He is even bigger than you expected. “Are you on the pill?” he asks while he starts to pump his cock. “I am,” you say. “Good. I want to fuck your pussy and then, since you suggested sucking me off, come inside your mouth. I want you to taste me. You don’t swallow until I say so. Do you understand?” he asks, sliding his cock through your folds to tease you. “Yes Sir, I understand,” you whimper and he wastes no time and pushes inside you.

His first thrust already make your eyes roll back and you feel like you’re going to die from the intense pleasure. Your legs wrap around his waits and your hands are on his back, pressing him even more against your body. Everytime a whimper or a moan escapes your mouth his thrust become deeper, rougher and faster. You can feel him throb inside you and he keeps hitting your g- spot over and over again.

One of his hand is sneaking through your breast, squeezing it and toying with your nipple. You graze his back with your fingernails and make sure to leave marks on him. Your mind goes blank and you lose yourself in the pleasure completely. After a few more thrust you can feel the orgasm building up inside of you. “Close,” you breath out and he nods. “Me too. You can come on my cock now.”

You let go and your orgasm is even more intense than you expected. You moan his name so loud that he quickly covers your mouth with his hand again. He picks up his speed and a few thrusts later he pulls out of you to shove his cock into your mouth. You can feel his cum inside your mouth and taste him, just like he told you to. He watches you closely the whole time while he recovers from his own orgasm.

“Now swallow,” he says and you do. Then he pulls you forward with both of his hands to kiss you. The kiss is different this time, more gentle and caring, not just full of lust. When he pulls back you both smile. “I guess sending you this picture was not bad at all. And I was so worried.” He laughs. “I’m glad you send it, angel. Now I finally have you all to myself. It's a shame I couldn't take more time for you right now. There's a lot more I'd like to do with you,” he says with a mischievous smile on his face. “Why don’t you show me after your office hours, Sir?” you say with a smirk on your face. “Make sure to be here on time, angel.”

[ylangelegy]

like a python 🧊 jihoon x reader.

jihoon doesn’t know how many years of pining he has left in him.

★ rockstar!jihoon x reader. ★ word count: 2.5k ★ genre/warnings: alternate universe: non-idol. jihoon-centric, childhood friends, yearning... so much yearning, young k makes a cameo, jihoon is a bit lame (affectionately), cussing/swearing. mentions of alcohol, food. ★ footnotes: got7 dropped winter heptagon and it's all i can think about. wrote this in one sitting as a show of gratitude to @chugging-antiseptic-dye for introducing me to these boys. haven't done a song fic in a hot minute, but for lee jihoon and got7? anything. shoutout to igot7_MarKP on twitter for the english translation of the lyrics.

🎧 now playing: python by got7 — i know i'm an icon, watch me with the lights on; but she got a hold on me like a python.

▸ MUSIC IS HOW I'VE BEEN VENTING NOW... OVERSEAS, I'M SELLING OUT.

It’s pretty surreal to Jihoon, being in a room with some of the biggest names in rock.

In the past hour alone, he’s met Alex Turner, Dave Grohl, and— holy shit, is that Hayley Williams? Jihoon is getting dizzy, and it’s not only because of all the secondhand smoke he’s inhaled since he got to the Rolling Stones afterparty. 

The best of the best. That’s what the invitation had boasted. It was the scene’s most coveted event, and Jihoon somehow made it to the guest list. 

Unbidden, your voice nags from somewhere in the back of his mind. You’re the best, Jihoon-ah. 

He shakes his head, like he’s physically trying to get away from the thought of you. This had been happening a lot more as of late. Fleeting moments wherein he’d imagine how you would react, what you’d say. 

But Jihoon always catches himself. He snaps himself out of it and goes back to recording, goes back to performing. 

God, he needs to get it together. He’s starting to regret saying ‘no’ to the cigarette Ely Buendia was offering him earlier. 

(In Jihoon’s defense, he didn’t smoke often. He didn’t want to fuck up his vocal chords. He had a one-cigarette-a-year rule, and he wasn’t about to use it now. It was only January; who knew what else the year would throw him?) 

Jihoon is contemplating some other vice— maybe he can go grab another beer— when he feels a tap on his shoulder. At the sight of who came up to him, Jihoon immediately folds into a bow. 

“There’s no need for that,” Younghyun says, equal parts amused and embarrassed. “We’re all the same here, yeah?” 

Jihoon pulls himself to his full height. “Not… really,” he says lamely, and then he immediately launches into mumbled apologies when he realizes how he might have sounded. 

It wasn’t that Jihoon thought he was better than his peers. Hell, he knew that he was the least important person in the room. That’s what he meant; they were not all the same, because Jihoon still had a long ways to go. 

Especially when compared to rock icon Young K, who is— gracefully— taking Jihoon’s awkwardness in stride. 

“You’re holding up a lot better than me,” Younghyun muses. “At my first afterparty, I threw up on Rupam Islam.” 

“No.” 

“Yes, unfortunately. He was very nice about it, though.” 

Jihoon lets out a stutter of a laugh. He’s never been a fan of small talk, but he clings to it now like a lifeline. “Does it get easier?” he asks. 

Younghyun’s eyebrows raise. “Throwing up on rockstars?” 

“No, no–”

“I was kidding,” Younghyun says in between chuckles. His expression is a little more pensive when he goes on, “I can’t say for sure that it gets easier, but you learn to deal with it.” 

You learn to deal with it. Jihoon can almost laugh at just how accurate that is. It seems applicable to every aspect of his life— including missing you. 

Jihoon winces. Younghyun notices. 

The older man doesn’t comment on it, probably thinks it’s something else entirely. Younghyun doesn’t flinch away, either, when Jihoon nervously says, “Can I ask you another question?” 

“Ask away,” says Younghyun. “I’ve got nothing better to do.” 

What is Jihoon doing? He doesn’t know either, but it’s either this or fight off the urge to run through a pack of Marlboros. “How do you cope,” he starts slowly, “with… feelings?” 

A beat. Crap. Jihoon realizes he definitely could have phrased that better, because Younghyun is now looking at him with an expression of mild confusion. 

Jihoon backtracks. “You— we— go through a lot in this field of work. Like, a lot. And you— fuck, fine, I’m— grateful for it, really, I swear. But there’s just… so much other things, too, aside from the gratitude. How do you cope with those?”

Jihoon knows he probably looks and sounds like a trainwreck in his bid to be deliberately vague. By some miracle, Younghyun at least seems to understand what Jihoon is trying to say.

Younghyun’s lip quirks to one side as he thinks of his response. The silence stretches uncomfortably long, but then he gives an answer that’s the last thing Jihoon could have expected. 

“I write,” Younghyun says. 

Jihoon blinks once. Then twice. 

“You write,” he repeats, and the former nods. 

“It’s all in my discography. The anger, the heartbreak, the love.” Younghyun raises his shoulders in a shrug. “I’ve written nearly 200 songs, and all of them are just— that. Questions. Answers to questions. Feelings and stories.” 

It’s so simple, so obvious. It’s like a glaring traffic sign, like something that every musician should know and do.

Put it in a song. Perform it for thousands and leave the muse none the wiser. Profit. Lather, rinse, repeat. 

Jihoon had done it a fair amount of times, but never had he considered putting you to pen and paper. The prospect of it makes something in his chest thrum. 

“I—” He clears his throat. “I think I have to go, sunbaenim. It was nice seeing you.” 

A hint of humor glints in Younghyun’s eye, like he’s somewhat aware of the fact he’s witnessing something unravel. “‘Younghyun’ is fine,” he chirps. “And it was nice seeing you, too, Jihoon. Take care of yourself.” 

The words— take care of yourself— are supposed to be a platitude. To Jihoon, it feels like a tall ask. 

▸ I'M TOURING THE WORLD BUT I'M MISSING THE ONE WHO HELD IT DOWN.

Jihoon is exhausted. 

As much as he wants to say that he’s never been this tired in his life, it’d probably be a lie. He’d make the claim, hit the road, then end up crashing out saying the same damn thing. He’s seen this film before; he knows how it ends. 

He falls back on his hotel bed after his shower. A low groan escapes him, and he sends up a silent prayer to all the higher powers there are. Thank you for sheets with a 300-500 thread count. Thank you for air-conditioning. Thank you for warm showers and Listerine. 

Despite his fatigue, Jihoon can’t just go to sleep. Post-show adrenaline always took a couple of hours to wear off.

He briefly contemplates his options. Write a lyric or two? Watch a shitty Netflix movie? Stare out the hotel window until his eyes can’t stay open anymore? 

None of the above, it seems, as he reaches for his phone. 

Jihoon has never been active on SNS; he just couldn’t bring himself to care about things like TikTok trends or Twitter ‘beef’. It’s a constant thorn in his PR team’s side. There is one thing that he bothers to check, though, and God forbid he deny himself the simple pleasure of some good ol’ fashioned pining. 

He’s been on your Instagram page enough times that it’s the first thing that shows when he goes to the search bar. It’s the only thing that shows, really, which gives some pretty good sense of where his head is at. 

Your profile loads. There’s no new post, no recent story. Jihoon is both disappointed and relieved.

No news is good news, he thinks to himself as he leisurely scrolls through the photos he’s already seen a dozen times before. You, feeding sidewalk cats. You, sipping tea at a cafe. You, in all the places that were once Jihoon’s, too. The beaches, the hiking trails, the restaurant in your shared neighborhood. 

Jihoon opens that particular post. Even though he’s watched your life in squares for the better half of the past three years, this is the one photo that always has him feeling a pang of… something. 

Because Jihoon can imagine it— being at that restaurant with you. The two of you had discovered it together, had pooled your measly school allowances to afford the bokguk and ganjang gejang. 

He imagines being there with this older version of you, being the one snapping the picture that’d find a spot on your feed. He can see it so clearly in his mind’s eye that if he really, really tries, it begins to look more like a memory than a daydream.

But he’s not in Busan, not even in Korea. He’s in the United States instead, where he has ten stops before heading to Canada and Europe. 

Sold-out stadiums. Thousands upon thousands of adoring fans. 

All the food that he could possibly want, and yet it’s pufferfish soup and soy sauce crabs that he’s looking for. 

Every person that he could possibly have, and yet. And yet. 

Jihoon huffs out a frustrated exhale. He’s tired, which he swears makes him delusional. 

He casts his phone aside, blissfully ignorant to the way his finger double taps his screen as he does. 

Halfway across the world, your phone pings

woozi_universefactory ✓ liked your post. 

▸ I'VE BEEN RUNNING BACKWARDS, RUNNING BACKWARDS LIKE A MARATHON.

The push notification glaring up at Jihoon looks a lot like a bomb that’s about to explode.

Jihoon feels like it’s a bomb, because he refuses to believe that after over a year of absolutely nothing, you’ve messaged first. You’ve messaged first. 

He double, triple checks his calendar. It’s neither of your birthdays. It’s not a holiday, either. Is it Chuseok? No— that doesn’t make sense. 

“For fuck’s sake,” he chides himself under his breath. It’s a text. Nothing more, nothing less.

Jihoon opens the notification. 

And then his heart just. 

Stops. 

You’d sent two messages— the first, being the post that had him spiraling last night. It’s the proceeding message that has Jihoon hoping the ground will swallow him whole. 

Stalking me, Jihoon-ah? 

Holy shit.

Jihoon types out at least three different messages, from Are you a fly on my wall to Is there a new Instagram feature I don’t know about to What happened to “hello, how are you”? 

In the end, he only sends back a single question mark. When he opens the offending post, he immediately sees his transgression. 

Jihoon hadn’t liked the photo before last night. He didn’t like much posts to begin with. How— When— 

His phone pings. He’s never been so thankful that he mostly opts to get room service for breakfast, because the squeak that he lets out is definitely not very rockstar-like. Jihoon fumbles, and he ends up opening your DM before he can psych himself up for it. 

LOL. Playing dumb doesn’t suit you, you say. 

Damn you and your ability to render him speechless. Jihoon wonders if he can get away with not responding, with getting back to you a couple of days later and blaming his work. 

Except. 

Jihoon’s fingers slowly move across his screen. 

It was a good post, he says. 

It was a post from a year ago, you answer. 

So? He throws in an emoji of a man shrugging for good measure. Jihoon never uses emojis, but he can make some exceptions. 

Your respond, So, stalking. You were stalking me. 

Jihoon knows he’s digging a hole for himself, knows he’s going to stay up several nights thinking of just how stupid he is. If he were a stronger man, he’d pull the plug on this conversation and that’d be it. You wouldn’t bug him. He would maybe write a song about this moment. The world would go on. 

But he can hear you. 

In the messages, in the words on his screen. He can hear your voice, the way you’d smile or laugh or tease. How you’d say his name in that sing-song tone he once pretended to hate. 

He hears you in your messages, and he’ll live with the secondhand shame if it means that he gets to keep on listening. 

Not stalking, he shoots back. Just checking in. 

Ah, you say. Because you missed me?~

Despite himself, he scoffs. You’ve always been so shameless. It didn’t matter to you that he was WOOZI the rockstar; to you, he would always be Jihoon who lived three houses down. 

As if, he says to your teasing.

You don’t respond anymore. You don’t even read the message, because Jihoon doesn’t see the little ‘Seen’ under his last message.

He waits for it for a minute. Then five minutes. Then seven minutes. He stops checking at the thirteen-minute mark, because he likes to believe he’s no longer a high schooler with a raging crush on the girl next door. 

He’s a grown man. He’s WOOZI, for Christ’s sake. 

He can’t keep coming back to you.

▸ I GAVE YOU MY TIME WHEN I DIDN'T HAVE MUCH; ALL OF MY FEELINGS, SWEPT UNDER THE RUG.

Except he does. 

WOOZI may not want to. WOOZI may be the bassist writing songs about the past in hopes of leaving things in the past, but Jihoon is a different story. 

Jihoon texts you the moment he lands in Gimhae International Airport. Jihoon stands outside your front door— definitely jetlagged, probably in need of a shower— with his luggage in one hand and his phone in the other. 

Jihoon acts like it’s the world’s biggest inconvenience when he tells you, “Come on, then.” 

The two of you get the crabs and soup. He refuses to talk about his time away; he contents himself with listening, like he always does, and you fill the silence with babble. Your desk job, your parents’ nagging, your hobbies and side hustles. 

“Probably not as interesting as your life,” you joke after a particularly long-winded anecdote about a delivery rider who got your address wrong. 

Jihoon neither confirms nor denies the statement. He only raises one eyebrow and gives you a wordless gesture with his hand. Go on anyway, he’s saying, and you take the cue. 

The meal ends. Jihoon invites you for coffee. Then ice cream. Then a walk. 

“This is very suspicious.” 

Jihoon can’t help it; a snort of laughter escapes him at your words. “Can’t a guy take a friend out to lunch?” he asks humorlessly. 

“And dinner,” you note. 

“And dinner, yes.” 

“And dessert.” 

“And dessert.” 

The two of you are taking the long way home. There’s something to be said about how Jihoon drags his feet, about how you walk like you’re not on borrowed time. Even your conversation moves like you’re beating around the bush.

There is an elephant in the room and Jihoon is done pretending that it’s not there. That it hasn’t been there since the day you two met in primary school, since the first time he held your hand as a teenager, since he became a musician and every song he performed became about you.

Jihoon doesn’t know how many years of pining he has left in him. 

“Are you dying?” 

Your blasé question draws a bark of laughter from him. “Jesus, no,” he says. “Do I have to be dying to want to see you?” 

You don’t answer right away. Jihoon once again has that feeling that he’s said something wrong, something loaded, but you save him from overthinking when you respond with, “You wanted to see me?” 

There it is. That teasing tone, that hint of a smile. 

You bump your shoulder against his. “You missed me, Jihoon-ah. Admit it.” 

And Jihoon is done, Jihoon is tired, Jihoon is still yours after all this time.

“Yeah,” he finally, finally says. “I missed you.” 

[janeyseymour]

Damsel in Distress

summary: every once in a while you need rescuing. melissa is usually there.

WC: ~2.4k

It’s a well known fact that Melissa Schemmenti is not the warmest and fuzziest soul that walks the Abbott halls- by both students and teachers alike. Of course, there were always people that she felt comfortable letting her guard down around, and each and every student would venture to say that while the redhead was quite the opposite of her counterpart, Janine Teagues, Melissa Schemmenti was fiercely loving and protective when push came to shove.

So when you start your career as a first grade teacher opposite Gregory Eddie, you���re warned right away of the rough and tough teacher.

“Melissa… she’s my girlfriend’s grade level partner,” Gregory informs you during the staff meeting that morning. “And she’s going to try to push you around. Don’t let her tough Philly streets kind of personality turn you off from her- she’s got a good heart.”

Your gaze follows his finger, where he’s pointing to his friends as they walk in. And because he’s in with them, they come and take a seat with you.

“Who’s the newbie?” Melissa immediately questions as she rolls her eyes. Oh, wow- her eyes sparkle despite the fact that she looks less than enthused to be here. “And how long is she going to be here before she runs outta here like everyone else?”

“Melissa,” Barbara, the kindergarten teacher Gregory had told you about, scolds as she gently smacks the redhead’s perfectly manicured nails. “Be nice. We need all the help we can get around here.”

“Y/N,” you smile charmingly. “And hopefully a long time.”

“What makes you say that?” the second grade teacher challenges as she sits across from you.

You shrug. “I grew up around here. I know how it goes.”

“You? You grew up around here?” Melissa challenges as she gets a look at your appearance. You’re dressed quite nicely. “How’d you make it out and do this well for yourself and then fall back to teaching?”

“I’ve actually been teaching for a few years,” you hum out. “Still live in South.”

“You from South?” You just nod before turning your attention to the meeting that seems to be beginning.

When you told the redhead that you were planning on staying at Abbott for a long time, you meant it. Working in a district and a school like this is where you’ve always done your best work. You’ve been around. Working in the suburbs of Philadelphia is an entirely different job. You’ve worked with rich kids, who you honestly had a hard time connecting with. You’ve worked with middle class kids who were somewhat grateful for the work that you did, but there was still an aura of entitlement that you just did not appreciate in the slightest. You’ve worked in districts similar to the greater Philadelphia area. But when push comes to shove, your heart belongs to the city of brotherly love, and you pounced at the opportunity to come back to the city.

In the time that you’ve been at Abbott, you’ve been able to do wonders for your students. Yes, Jacob and Janine bring wonderful new ideas to the somewhat stuck in the past school, but there’s something about you that just… makes it all work. The other difference between you and the other two younger teachers? You’re a bit more… realistic- jaded. You, unlike the other younger teachers- your grade level partner included, understand that some things simply don’t go according to plan. And when plans don’t pan out the way you quite hope or expect them to, you simply adapt with grace and elegance that doesn’t get past Barbara or Melissa. Even Ava, the principal who is known for her lack of attention, picks up on the fact that there’s something special about your teaching. 

And when Melissa Schemmenti realizes that you genuinely were planning on sticking around for a while and saw your work, she was on your side wholeheartedly.

While you’ve done amazing things for your students and been praised up and down by the district, there are still a few teachers who have somewhat of a gripe with you, claiming that you’re changing too much all at once for them to keep up with you. They state that you’re bringing in new methods that simply won’t work for their students- because why would you fix what isn’t broken? 

And that’s exactly what you’re speaking about during your share out time at the staff meeting today. You have quite a few visual learners in your class, as well as students who learn through experience.

“So, as Howard Gardner’s theory of multiple intelligences goes,” you say from your spot. “Everybody has different strengths in how they they learn.”

Gregory smiles. He had taught Janine physics in that way- that everyone plays to a different strength when it comes to learning and picking up new skills. 

“And I have quite a few visual learners, so as opposed to just lecturing, I’ve found that connecting it to real world situations that my first graders will understand and drawing it on the board will help. I’ve also come to realize that many of my students grasp ideas through the art of doing. So, for example, when we were learning about the phases of the moon, I found that a lot of my kiddos understood the cycle more clearly when we used an oreo to model it. In having a visual, auditory, and kinesthetic-”

“Now why are you trying to make us work harder?” one of the third grade teachers pipes up and interrupts you. “What I’ve been doing for a decade seems to still be working out for the most part.”

“Well,” you sigh as you bite your lip and glance to your group of friends. “The good thing about all of this is that most of us incorporate these different approaches without realizing it.”

“So then what’s the point of this share out, newbie?”

You go to respond when you feel a hand on your shoulder, and it isn’t Gregory’s or Jacob’s like you would expect. It’s not even Barbara. No, it’s Melissa.

“Why don’t you let her talk, Delores?” the gruff voice practically barks. “Just because we can sometimes inadvertently use these tactics doesn’t mean it’s not something we should draw attention to and try to do more consciously.”

“All I’m sayin is-”

“I don’t care what you’re saying,” Melissa growls. “Her lessons are a hell of a lot more effective than your boring ass lecturing, and maybe some of us would like to take a note or two about how we can improve our teaching.”

“Why are we trying to change the way we-”

“Did you ever realize that teaching is an ever-changing profession?” the redhead spits out. “That how we were taught doesn’t work anymore because there are always new practices and approaches coming out? Or did the nuns beat the sense out of you when you misbehaved in school?”

“Melissa,” you whisper and nudge her gently.

Green eyes turn to you. “Keep talkin’.”

Nobody dares to cross you again when it comes to your share outs during staff meetings again.

It’s later at lunch that you approach the topic of what happened in the library earlier today.

“Thank you for standing up for me,” you smile at Melissa while your lunch is in the microwave. “I really appreciate it.”

“It was nothin’,” the second grade teacher tells you with a wave of the hand. “I’ve been wanting that ol’ bat to retire for ages now, and I think she might now that she’s realizing she can’t keep up with the way the education world is going.”

It’s a few weeks later when Melissa Schemmenti stands up for you again- on a matter that you really expected her to be opposed on.

This morning, you had woken up a bit late, so instead of your usual sandwich and salad for lunch, you’re stuck with a bag of chips, a handful of grape tomatoes, and a stick of string cheese.

And while you’re eating quietly, Janine is making a fuss over it.

“Melissa, get on her!” the shorter second grade teacher huffs. “She’s eating what I eat!”

The redhead glances over at your rather unconventional meal and sighs. “That’s your lunch?” You just nod, preparing yourself to be berated by Melissa. But she doesn’t. Instead, she simply shrugs and turns her attention back to her phone.

“Melissa!” Janine admonishes.

“What, pipsqueak? She usually has a decent lunch. We all have our days of going back to the basics.”

“This is ridiculous!”

You just chuckle when you see that Melissa is silently portioning her own meal and sliding you half of it. 

Once again, you’re sitting in the library for a staff meeting where Ava has asked you to share out how you teach english language arts- a subject that your students are excelling in because of your unique approach to the sometimes difficult concepts. And once again, Delores is doing everything in her power to diminish your successes.

“Would you just shut up?” Melissa intervenes. “Ava asked her to speak out, and again, some of us aren’t old dogs like you who can’t learn new tricks.”

Your jaw practically drops at those biting words, but they do get your colleague to stop interjecting with criticism. Green eyes look to you again, and you have to hide the blush that wants to creep into your cheeks.

As luck would have it, after a rough staff meeting, your students are just not cooperating with you the way that you wish they would. You sigh softly as you lead them down to the lunch room before heading towards the faculty room for your own meal. It’s a Friday, which means that they’re already bouncing off the walls with the excitement for the weekend- but it’s also a long weekend, and you happen to know that Janiyah is having her birthday party that most of your students are attending. So they’re worse than they usually are on the last day of the school week.

You drop into your chair quietly, not yet reaching for your lunch bag. Instead, your fingers find their way to your temples, and you begin to rub them softly, hoping to alleviate some of the pain and discomfort.

“Rough day?” Melissa asks you quietly.

“Rough week,” you chuckle weakly. “After this morning, and then with the long weekend, my kids are giving me a run for my money today.”

“They’re menaces in my room today too,” the redhead tells you. “Sounds like you need a drink after work.”

You can’t help but feel inclined to agree. “Sure, why not?”

“Oscars, for happy hour?”

That’s how you end up at the local dive bar that your coworkers usually head to after a long week of work. Although this time, it’s oddly just the two of you. The rest of your friends already had plans. So, you’re sitting on one bar stool while your redheaded coworker is beside you, sipping your second margaritas.

“Damn,” you breathe out heavily. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”

“Me too,” Melissa sighs out. “I can only take so much of Delores and her bullshit… I don’t know how you put up with all of her shit. I can’t take it anymore.”

“I don’t quite think I’ve earned it yet enough to even attempt to put her in her place,” you laugh as you take another swig of your drink.

“I don’t even care anymore,” your colleague shrugs with no remorse. “Barb’s always tellin’ me I should try being nicer, but I don’t see the point; if she’s going to be rude, why can’t I?”

“Some people think that you should be nicer,” you giggle out as your gaze lingers on her lips. “Not me though. I think you’re perfect just the way you are.”

Maybe you should slow down the way that you’re drinking. You hadn’t meant for it to slip that you think she’s perfect.

Green eyes are rolled so hard you think they may get stuck. “You just say that because I always stick up for you.”

“And how nice is that?” You lean in and lay a gentle hand on her forearm, eyes once again flickering down to her full lips. “You’re perfect.”

“Am I?” the redhead chuckles as she finishes her second drink. She looks to you expectantly. Of course, you oblige her silent request and finish your own off despite the fact that you’ve thought about how you should slow down.

You’re able to get the bartender’s attention to order two more before turning back to Melissa. “I’d say you are. You’re- you’re funny, and smart, and sweet, and gorgeous.”

“Gorgeous?” A perfectly sculpted brow is lifted, a smirk apparent on the redhead’s face.

Your cheeks tint red. “I- I-”

“That’s quite the compliment coming from you,” the redhead says.

Your brows furrow in confusion. “What?”

“Someone as beautiful as yourself telling me that I’m gorgeous? Now that’s quite the compliment.”

“Y-you think I’m pretty?” you stammer out.

“Of course I-” The bartender places down your drinks in front of you, and Melissa pauses to thank him before turning back to you. “Of course I do. Why do you think I defend you all the time?”

“Because you’re nice?”

“Because you’re gorgeous,” the redhead corrects you. “And sometimes it’s fun rescuing the damsel in distress.”

“I am not a damsel in distress!” you protest.

“So you’re tellin’ me you want me to stop rescuing you from Delores?” Melissa asks you with a frown.

“N- no,” you stutter out. “I- I like when you do that.”

“Can I rescue you from something else?” the redhead leans in closely.

“And what would that be?”

“I’ll save you from yourself,” Melissa smiles as her eyes lower to your lips. She kisses you softly. “You’ve been staring at my lips since we got here. How long was it going to take for you to kiss me?”

You bite your lip before pulling her in softly again. When you pull away, you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up out of you. “Thank you for saving me from myself… and from the others.”

“Always will,” the redhead laughs as she pulls you in again.

And Melissa makes good on her words. Once the two of you begin dating, her fierce protectiveness of you only shines more. And each time, once the two of you are in the comfort of your own home, she’ll tease you quietly.

“My damsel in distress,” she’ll chuckle softly before pulling you in.

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @sarahjohannson @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead @schemmentits

[f1daydreamer]

“His Favorite Person”

Warnings : none just pure Fluff

___________________________________________

You were Oscar Piastri’s childhood sweetheart. It sounded simple on paper, but in reality, it was anything but. He’d known you since you both were seven, growing up on the same street in Melbourne. He was the boy with messy hair and a shy smile, and you were the girl who had no problem standing up for him when someone teased him for his quiet nature.

It wasn’t long before the two of you were inseparable. Wherever Oscar went, you weren’t far behind. He even credited you with convincing him to pursue karting when he’d doubted himself at thirteen.

Now, years later, he was one of McLaren’s golden boys, and you were still the center of his universe.

---

“So, Oscar, who’s your inspiration?”

The interviewer’s question was generic, the kind of thing every driver was asked at least a dozen times. Most people expected him to say someone like Ayrton Senna or Lewis Hamilton. But Oscar? He barely hesitated.

“Y/N, definitely,” he said, his face breaking into a soft smile at just the thought of you. “She’s been with me since the start. I wouldn’t be here without her.”

The interviewer blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “That’s sweet. Care to elaborate?”

“Well,” he began, his voice lighter than usual, “she’s the one who pushed me to go after this. She believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. And, uh, she keeps me sane when things get crazy.” He laughed, scratching the back of his neck.

“Also, she’s probably the most patient person in the world. I don’t know how she puts up with me sometimes.”

---

The fans ate it up, of course. Anytime Oscar mentioned you—which was often—the internet would light up with posts like:

---

It wasn’t just in interviews, though. Oscar’s Instagram was basically a shrine to you. Every post, no matter how racing-focused, had at least a couple of pictures of you tucked in somewhere. Sometimes it was a candid shot of you laughing in the paddock, other times it was a picture of the two of you on holiday.

His captions? Equally lovesick.

Even McLaren’s media team couldn’t resist teasing him about it.

“Alright, Oscar, let’s get this promo video done. Try not to talk about Y/N for five minutes,” one of them joked during filming.

He grinned but didn’t deny it. When the video came out, fans weren’t even surprised to see a clip of you sneaking into the paddock to surprise him mid-season. Oscar’s face had lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, and McLaren had (very cheekily) titled the segment, “Oscar’s Favorite Person Arrives.”

---

You’d teased him about it countless times.

“Do you realize how obsessed you sound?” you asked one night, scrolling through the comments on his latest post.

“Obsessed?” he repeated, pretending to think it over. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Oscar!”

“What?” He grinned, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his lap. “You’re the best part of my life. Why wouldn’t I talk about you all the time?”

Your face burned, but you couldn’t help smiling. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it.”

---

If anyone had asked, Oscar would’ve said it was easy to love you.

After all, you were his constant—his best friend, his partner, his everything. Whether he was racing halfway across the world or just lounging at home, you were the one thing that grounded him.

And if the entire world knew it? Well, that was just a bonus.

[kaivenom]

Hey same person who asked for OP DILF x MILF reader

How about them reacting to MILF reader having a kid? (Even funnier if it was like luffy or zoro lol)

OP DILFS dating a MILF who has a kid

Characters: Mihawk, Doflamingo, Crocodile, Smoker,Shanks.

A/N: Two things. First one: i love this, i really had a good time writing it, you have great ideas my dear anon. Second one: exams are finally oveeeer, so i would be trying to update more than usual to get all the requests out of the hoven for everyone.

Masterlist

Dracule Mihawk

After taking care of Zoro and Perona, he thinks that he is ready for everything.

One day you were both on the kitchen and he like ussual is reading paperwork.

"It looks like the new generation it's going strong, this kid seems a good swordsman." he shows you the picture.

"Drac, i think it's time for us to talk." he almsot felt fear for a moment, "that kid it's mine, not like you and Zoro, literally that is my son." his mind exploded, you never saw him that concerned.

"And when will you have said this to me?"

"I am telling you now... you know how difficult it's to date at our age, especcially being a woman who already has a kid?" he nodded and pushed you closer, "i planned on telling you soon, i just, didn't know how, i was expecting something like this to happen to have the oportunity to tell you.

"You are lucky i already have practice with that green haired boy... call him, we can set a dinner and i can meet him formally, maybe even bond?" you coudln't help but smile and kiss him.

Donquixote Doflamingo

He already has experience with children since he literally adopted a lot of them.

One day someone robbed on the royal treasure chamber of Dressrosa and he was furious, he was looking for you to help him relax.

"My dove, i need some of your assistance on my d..."

"And when i tell you i date someone your best idea it's to rob him? you are lucky i found you and your stupid friends before he did? and.... " you finally became aware of his presence, but his eyes were already glued to the teenager.

You grabbed your child by the collar of the shirt and went to the door, your previous angry look bacame softer seen how Doflamingo's eyebrows were frowning.

"This is my son... i called him to Dressrosa so you could finally meet him but he decided to 'prove you'... i dont know what was on his mind. I have the treasure located and coming back to the chamber."

"You have a child." Doflamingo looked at the verge of an aneurysm, gritting his teeth.

"I do, please, don't punish him... i thake the responsability." his lips curled in a strange smile, like he was trying to fake it.

"I am honored to meet your son, it's impressive to know how skilled he is, maybe he can join court..." clearly Doffy was having a hard time trying not to kill you son.

Sr. Crocodile

Experience 0, oblivious 100%

He was on his office, doing work and you appeared with your son.

"Croc..." he turned the chair and looked at you both, "dear, i told you i don't need more agents... i don't know how you contacted someone with such a high bounty but i don't need it." and he turned the chair again.

"This is my son..." Crocodile was thankfull for being backwards to you cause he choked on the cigar.

"Your what?"

"SIr Crocodile, i am (Y/N)'s son, i was hoping to meet you and bond a little, i wasn't expecting a job... but if you give it to me i am not going to complain."

"You already have a job as bounty hunter, don't try to take advantage of this." you poked your son's cheek under Crocodile's surprised look.

"I..." he cleared his throat, trying to sound serious and prepared, "pleasure to meet you child, i would have appreaciate it a warning."

"I warned you, i left a note on the fridge that said 'special meeting today, i have a surprise'" your son started to laugh.

"That sounded like a booty call, jajaja, maybe he was expecting you to come here in lingerie." you punched your son on the head to make him shut up.

"I can make a reserve on the restaurant we both like and i can know you better." he tried to sound profesional but your son was right, he tought you would give him a sexy surprise, not this.

Smoker

He was really tired of dealing with teenage pirates.

He spent the last week chasing and fighting agaisnt a new supernova, he was tired and just wants to get home to you.

"Hello love." he said while hanging his uniform, then he got to the living room and saw that same supernova playing cards with you, "i don't know what you are doing here bastard but you are not going to hurt my..."

"Relax old men, i was just paying a visit to my mother." Smoker got his mind reset.

"Smoker sweetie, this is my son."

"How couldn it be your son? you are a marine."

"Same happens with Garp, but he is a grandfather.... i think maybe this is a nice time for you two to meet." you were really nervous but tried to sound chill and smooth.

"Oh mother, we already know each other, thi sis the man that has been chasing me all week." the moment got worse every second and you wanted to hide, but you felt Smoker sat next to you and put his arm on your should, "noooo, cut the romantic things, i am going to throw up."

"Don't talk to us like that, yesterday i was furious that you were so childish but right now, i wont tolerate you talking to your mother or me with such a disrespectful tone." you had to hide a laugh, he clearly was getting his frustations out but at the same time trying to be nice. "so tell me, how can a son of a marine officer become a pirate?"

"Well..." and you knew that this would be a long night.

Akagami Shanks

Since Luffy and Uta, he was out of the parenting thing, for now.

You were sleeping and suddently canons started to burst on the ship, you got dressed and prepared to a new day at board.

"I am xxxxx, and i will defeat you, Red Head SHanks."

"On your dreams, child." canons were still bursting when you got on the ship and saw the attacker of the ship.

"Mom?" "Son?" you both said at the same time, Shanks mouth touched the ground.

"Come here you little prick, how could you blow the ship of your mother's fiancee."

"You are engaged? i didn't got the letter nor invitation, you don't love me or what? i know we don't live together anymore but..."

"I sent it yesterday, it should get to you in a couple of hours but... we took the covers of various newspapers, how could you not saw it?"

"You know i don't read that bullshit..." you both were yelling at each other from the ships, until Shanks decided to finally talk.

"And when i was going to know this?"

"Today!" he coudln't even talk, his mind was going to fast, another problematic child.

"Boy, stop blasting canons and get on the ship... i love your mother and i want to marry her, i can kill you."

"You are not going to kill me, i am going to defeat you."

"You can try, after the wedding and only if i am looking." you yelled at him and went to Shanks, "leave him, he is excited in reality to meet you."

"I must recompose myself, i must make him see i am a good stepfather."

[luvismenu]

> motive — pt.5 ,, index ! nsfw

. . brother's bestfriend!jungkook au . .

wc: 4.6k+

warnings: banter, teasing, lots of cursing ofc, kissing, some oral (fem recieving), fingering, clit play, he's kinda aggresive, jungkook being a dick in the end, cliffhanger-ish?

jeon jungkook is so fucking stubborn.

once he sets his mind on something, there’s no going back. if he thinks something might hurt someone, he won’t ever risk it. he doesn’t change his mind, doesn’t budge, doesn’t care how annoying it is. he’ll stick to his decision no matter what.

it’s a stupid habit, but he’s always been like this. and honestly, you’re starting to think he always will be.

you’ve known that ever since the bike incident from when you were kids. it was your brother’s bicycle. you really liked it, and you wanted to ride it secretly because you knew jimin wouldn't let you. you begged jungkook to let you, but he refused. your brother had told him, very seriously, that it would break his heart if you fell and got hurt. and, of course, jungkook listened. he took your brother’s words like gospel and never let you touch the bike.

it didn’t matter that you cried about it. even though he looked a little guilty seeing you bawling your eyes out, he still wouldn’t budge. your brother’s feelings came first, even if you were sitting there heartbroken.

and that was when you were four, and they were nine

jungkook never told you why he didn't let you touch your brother's bike either. you only know about this because jimin told you when you grew up. which really pissed you off.

maybe it’s a silly thing to still think about, but it’s just so annoying that he hasn’t changed. he’s always been like this— choosing what’s “right” even if it makes you mad.

sure, he’s not your best friend, but that doesn’t mean you both didn’t grow up together. you were always there, tagging along, watching him and jimin get into all kinds of trouble. and your brother always found ways to keep you quiet, too.

“jungkook, let's carry her on the way home.”

“jungkook, give her your candy so she won’t tell mom and dad.”

and it worked.

every time.

it was fun, you won’t lie. making them beg you not to rat them out, holding it over their heads. oh, it was so fucking fun.

it’s still almost the same, you know all your brother’s secrets, and by extension, jungkook’s. growing up with them, you picked up more than they ever wanted you to. and, well, why wouldn’t you use that information to your advantage? sometimes for fun, sometimes to get what you want.

and what did mufasa say? it’s the mother fucking circle of life.

“saw that you were with taehyung a few days ago,” jimin says casually as he pulls on his jacket.

you’re stretched out on the couch, scrolling through your phone. you’ve been debating whether or not to text jungkook, but you don’t want to look desperate. still, your fingers keep itching to type something.

your brothers words make you pause, but you don’t look up. instead, you respond simply, “yeah.”

“why?” he asks, his voice closer now. you glance up to find him standing right behind you, staring down.

you shrug, keeping your eyes glued to your phone. “just because.”

and then, without warning, he snatches the phone from your hands, holding it high above his head. you gasp, jumping up immediately.

“oh, you son of a—”

“careful,” he interrupts with a smug grin, “we share the same mother.”

you glare, crossing your arms. “give me my phone back.”

“answer me properly,” he counters. “do you like taehyung?”

your face scrunches in immediate disgust. “no! he just wanted to meet up and talk. you know, because he helped me with my projects back in middle school, and we were kinda like friends.” you emphasize the words as you uncross your arms, as if reminding him.

jimin sighs and finally lowers your phone, which you snatch back with lightning speed.

“okay,” he relents, “just don’t get too close to him.”

“why?” you deadpan, raising a brow. “because he’s a model too, and you’ve got some secret rivalry with him?”

“because he hurt my best friend,” jimin snaps, his tone sharp, “and i don’t want to think about it.”

you shut your mouth, his words leaving no room for argument. the silence between you grows thick for a moment.

then, finally, you speak up. “whatever. i’m going to watch a movie. don’t disturb me.”

“i won’t, cuz i’m going out,” jimin says, grabbing his car keys from the table.

“with?” you ask, eyeing him suspiciously.

“your mo— wait, shit, we have the same mom,” he mutters, catching himself, and you scrunch your nose in disgust but can’t help the small smile that slips out.

“your crazy model friends?” you fold your arms again,tilting your head.

“yes, my crazy, stupid, but rich model friends,” he grins smugly, “just like me.”

you roll your eyes and turn around, flopping back onto the couch dramatically.

“oh, and jungkook’s coming over,” he says as he heads for the door.

your ears perk up immediately, and you shoot up, blurting, “why?”

“it’s the weekend. he’s gonna sleep over,” jimin replies casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. and to be fair, it kind of is— jungkook crashing at your place is pretty routine. but the thing is, he’s always here for jimin, not you. all you and jungkook do is bicker whenever he’s around.

“but you’re going out,” you frown, watching him open the door.

“bro, this is my house, i’m coming back of course. don’t worry,” he says, rolling his eyes like you’re being ridiculous.

“but i don’t—”

“shush,” he cuts you off, stepping outside. “i am gonna be late because of you. take care of the house and don’t fight with jungkook.”

before you can argue back, he’s out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

you stare at the door for a moment, then slump back onto the couch, muttering to yourself.

“yeah, like that’s fucking possible.”

it doesn’t take long for jungkook to show up. the front door swings open casually, and he walks in like he owns the place, not even sparing you a glance. he heads straight for the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water, chugging it down like he just ran a marathon.

must’ve worked out.

you hear his footsteps as he walks into the living room, where you’re sprawled out on the couch, pretending to ignore him. well, pretending to mind your own business, at least.

your eyes flick to him briefly, and yep, there he is— in those stupidly attractive gray sweatpants and a black compression shirt that clings a little too well to his body. if you look at him for too long, you’re pretty sure you’ll do something you’ll regret.

nope. not worth it. you’re supposed to be mad at him.

what is annoying, though, is how quiet he has been ever since that conversation with him a few days ago. jungkook isn’t supposed to be quiet around you. if anyone gets to ignore anyone here, it’s you.

selfish? maybe. but it’s just you and him.

it is what it is.

“get up,” he says, standing right beside the couch where your legs are sprawled out. “i need to sit.”

you glance at him briefly and then smile. “there’s plenty of space,” you say, your voice sickly sweet. “outside. in the garbage bin.” your smile drops as you finish the sentence, and his frown deepens, his brows pulling together in a way that— unfortunately, makes him look even better.

even hotter.

“i wanna watch the movie too,” he says, ignoring your jab.

“too fucking bad,” you retort, keeping your eyes on the tv.

the notebook plays on the screen, and for a second, you think of how much you and jimin love this movie and how you all used to watch this movie when you were younger (but old enough to watch it). jungkook always sat through it with the two of you, even though you know it’s not his thing.

“i just came back from the gym,” he starts, his voice edged with frustration. “i could use some rest.”

“go to the other room, then. use the bed to res— hey!”

you’re cut off mid-sentence as he grabs your legs, effortlessly lifting them up. before you can protest, he flips them off the couch, forcing you to sit up as he plops himself down beside you.

he leans back, completely unfazed, and looks at the screen. “thanks,” he says smugly.

“fuck face,” you mutter under your breath, glaring at him.

your hands itch to smack the smirk off his face, but you just huff and turn back to the movie, crossing your arms in annoyance.

you grab your phone, your fingers moving quickly as you text yumi because you genuinely have no idea what to do or say right now.

you: how can this mfker sit here and act like nothing happened!?

yumi <3: he's at yours!?!?

you: yeah, sleepover

yumi <3: where's ur bro

you: out

yumi <3: so u're alone tg 😈

you: help me bae. he's acting like i didn't literally say that i fucking want him?? what do i do

yumi <3: what u always do babe ,, provoke him.

you glance over at jungkook, still seated on the couch, his eyes glued to the screen. his jaw is clenched slightly, and your gaze trails down his arm, taking in his tattoos, the way his biceps flex subtly as he rests his hand on his thigh. and that’s when an idea hits you.

without a word, you get up and walk to your room. you don’t notice it, but his eyes flick to you as you leave. his gaze lingers for a second, curious, but he quickly forces himself to look back at the screen.

in your room, you swap your pants for a pair of shorts— really short shorts. short enough to reveal your thigh tattoo.

you glance at yourself in the mirror and adjust them slightly, smirking to yourself.

with newfound confidence, you stride back into the living room. jungkook is still on the couch, his attention glued to the movie. he doesn’t even glance your way when you enter— typical.

you catch sight of the clutter on the glass table in front of him: bowls and empty cups.

perfect.

you move around the couch approach the table from the other side so he can see the tattoo and start tidying up, picking up the bowls one by one, moving slowly, purposefully. you stretch your leg just slightly as you reach for the furthest one, your thigh tattoo now fully visible.

jungkook notices. and oh, you can tell by the quick flick of his eyes, the way his jaw tightens for just a second. but he doesn’t say a word, keeping his gaze locked on the screen like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

you hold back a frustrated sigh, heading to the kitchen to put the bowls away. when you return, he’s still pretending not to notice you, still sitting there as if nothing’s changed.

so fucking stubborn. for what, though?

you stop and take a deep breath, deciding to try again. this time, you walk directly in front of the tv, deliberately blocking his view as you pretend to move things around the room.

he frowns almost immediately. “move out of the fucking way,” he says, voice sharp and annoyed.

“can’t,” you say, keeping your tone light and casual. “i’m busy doing something.”

you cross the room again, back and forth, shifting random items like it’s the most important task right now.

“do it later,” he snaps, the irritation growing in his voice. “i’m watching this,, aren’t i?”

you scoff, turning on your heel to face him. “so fucking what? you’ve seen this movie like, a hundred times!”

he stares up at you, still frowning. “what the fuck do you want?” his tone is calm, too calm, but there’s an edge to it that makes your stomach flip.

you cross your arms, glaring at him. “you know what i want.”

he raises an eyebrow, his jaw clenching as he leans back into the couch. “do i?”

“yes,” you snap as you glare down at him. “don't act stupid, jungkook. you know exactly what the fuck i want.”

he exhales sharply through his nose, running a hand through his dark hair. “i don't know what the fuck you're talking about so just fucking say it.”

you scoff, your brows furrowing deeper. “i did say it. you’re the one pretending like it didn’t happen, like i didn’t tell you—”

“because you don’t mean it,” he cuts you off, his voice low but steady.

you take a step back, stunned for a moment. “what?”

he leans forward now, resting his palms on his knees, his gaze boring into yours. “you’re just doing this to fuck with me, to get a reaction. and congrats, you fucking got one. are you happy now?”

your throat tightens, but you refuse to let him see how much his words sting. “you think i didn’t mean it?”

he doesn’t answer immediately, just stares at you, like he’s trying to read your mind.

“if i didn’t mean it,” you say, your voice softer now, “then why would i keep doing this? why the fuck would i care?”

“because you like attention, don't you?” he shoots back, his words sharper than you expected. “taehyung, me, whoever gives it to you.”

your jaw drops, anger and disbelief flooding you. “you’re such a fuckin—”

“don’t,” he cuts you off again, standing up now, towering over you. “don’t act like i’m the bad guy here. you’re the one who started this.”

you stare up at him, your chest rising and falling as frustration bubbles over. but you recover quickly, masking the storm inside you with a smirk. tilting your head slightly, you ask, “started what exactly?” your tone is light, almost mocking, daring him to say it out loud.

jungkook’s jaw tightens, his gaze locked on yours. he doesn’t back down, but he doesn’t answer immediately either, like he’s weighing his next move. you can see it— the slight flare of his nostrils, the clench of his fists at his sides.

“don’t play with me, ___.” he finally says, his voice low and rough.

your smirk widens, pushing him further. “am i really? becuz all i see is you getting worked up over nothing.”

“nothing?” he scoffs, stepping closer, closing the already minimal distance between you. “you’ve been pushing me, fucking testing me? what the fuck is that about?”

you hold your ground, refusing to back away. “and? what are you gonna do about it, jungkook? keep avoiding it like you always do?”

he lets out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “avoiding it? you’re fucking crazy. you think this is easy for me?”

“what’s not easy?” you press more, losing patience, your voice softening slightly. “tell me, jeon jungkook. what’s so hard for you?”

his eyes darken, his emotions clear on his face. “stop, ___.” he pauses. “stop pushing me before i—” he cuts himself off, shaking his head like he’s trying to regain control.

you feel your breath catch at his words, your heart pounding, but you don’t let it show. instead, you tilt your chin up, whispering, “no.. you need to stop fighting it, jungkook.” you lean in closer, your eyes never leaving his. “it's just you and me right now.”

for a moment, neither of you moves. the tension between you is palpable, electric, like something is about to snap. and this time, you’re not sure if you want to continue pushing him.

“shut the fuck up,” jungkook leans down, his breathe getting heavier

you smirk a little, whispering back, “fucking make me.”

and then suddenly he’s holding your jaw in his big, tattooed palm, his lips sear against yours kissing you with passion that you’ve always wanted to feel.

jungkook's hand tightens around your jaw as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a desperate hunger. you moan into his mouth as he pulls you against his body, his other hand wrapping around your waist.

breaking away for a ragged gasp, jungkook lifts you effortlessly into his arms, kissing you again. you wrap your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair. he puts you down gently on the couch where he'd been sitting moments before. though there's nothing gentle about the way his hands roam over your curves, hiking your shirt up a little.

jungkook pulls back just enough to glare down at you, his breaths ragged, his jaw clenched. his dark eyes bore into yours.

"i hate you," he grits out. his hand grips your thigh, sliding up to press firmly against your skin, sending shivers through your body.

your lips curl into a smirk, your breath hitching as his grip tightens. “do you?” you whisper, your voice teasing, daring him to keep going.

his fingers dig into your thigh, his gaze flickering to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “yeah, cuz you're so fucking annoying. i hate you so fucking much,” he mutters, leaning down to press his lips against your neck, kissing and biting on your sensitive skin.

a soft moan escapes you, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as you arch into him. “yeah?” you breathe out, your smirk deepening. “i like knowing i get to you.”

his eyes snap to yours, his jaw tightening as he pulls your shorts down in one swift motion, revealing him your bare pussy. “so fucking bratty,” he mutters.

your breath hitches, your chest rising and falling as his fingers trace over the tattoo etched into your thigh, the one he gave you, the one that still turns him on whenever he thinks about how you teased him during the session.

you and your fucking mouth. he thinks.

his lips hover over your skin, his gaze fixed on the inked design before he lowers his head. his soft lips press against your hip, right where the tattoo starts.

his voice is quieter now, softer as he looks up at you. “does it still hurt?”

“so much,” you whisper, your voice shaky, but it’s clear your meaning has nothing to do with pain.

a smirk tugs at his lips, his eyes dark with intent as he begins kissing along the tattoo, lower and lower. each press of his lips sends a shiver through your body.

his hands grip your thighs firmly, holding you in place as his mouth continues its path, exploring every inch of your skin, lingering on the spots that make you squirm, but not touching the place you desparately need him to.

“you’re so quiet now, ___,” he murmurs against your thigh, his lips brushing over your skin. “what happened to that smart mouth of yours?”

you bite your lip, trying to hold back a sound. “fuck off,” you breathe out, your words make his smirk grow wider.

his hands grip your thighs, holding you open as his head moves fully between them. his eyes lock onto your bare pussy, and he curses under his breath.

he leans in, his tongue sliding in a long, slow stride over your folds, making your eyes flutter shut. a soft, needy moan escapes your lips, your body already trembling like you’ve been waiting for this moment forever.

because, well, you have.

his tongue moves through your folds with such a delicious rhythm, licking every inch of you. your breathing grows heavier with each stroke, his mouth exploring you like he’s memorizing every reaction.

when his tongue finds your clit, he flicks it expertly, a few quick strokes before sucking on it. the sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, your mind spiraling into a haze.

“fuck,” you whisper, barely able to form words as his mouth works wonders on you.

he doesn’t stop. his tongue continues to explore you, his lips wrapping around your clit again while his hand comes up to join the mix. two fingers slide over your slick folds before finding your clit, rubbing it in perfect rhythm with his tongue. when his mouth moves lower, licking at your entrance, your thighs quiver, and a sharp moan slips past your lips.

“this what you wanted?” he rasps, his voice rough as he glances up at you, his fingers still circling your clit. your back arches instinctively, your body responding to his touch, and you squirm under him, unable to keep still.

when you don’t answer fast enough, his hand lifts slightly before coming down with a sharp slap to your pussy. the sting makes you whimper, your eyes shooting open as he smirks.

“what’s wrong?” he taunts, his fingers rubbing over your folds soothingly. “for someone who bitches about everything, you're so fucking quiet now.”

he presses two fingers against your entrance, teasing you, his movements deliberate as your body tenses.

“wanna cum on my fingers?” he asks, his tone low, his thumb still rubbing lazy circles on your clit.

“y-yes,” you stammer, your voice shaky but desperate. “fuck yes, wanna cum on your fingers,” you moan, your body arching when you feel his fingers slide in.

“shit, look at you,” he groans, his voice rough as his fingers curl inside you, hitting the perfect spot. “dripping so good for me,”

your moan spills out involuntarily, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. your hand reaches out instinctively, gripping his that’s still holding your thigh, your touch shaky but needy.

his fingers pump in and out of you, his thumb pressing against your clit in perfect rhythm. the wet sounds of your pussy, with your breathless moans, echo in the room mixed with the movie still playing in the background; filling his head with even more desire. his eyes flicker down to the visible bulge in his sweatpants, hard and straining against the fabric as he takes in the sight of you.

“fuck,” he mutters under his breath, almost to himself, his movements never faltering. watching you like this; squirming, moaning, completely falling apart— does something to him he can’t ignore. he never thought it would actually come to this.

but he can’t deny it. he’s thought about it. more times than he’d ever admit. even when he tried to push those thoughts away, when he tried to convince himself it was wrong to see you like this, he could never stop. every time you provoked him, every time you pushed his buttons, it only made him think about it more.

and now? now he’s fucking gone. he loves this. he loves having you squirm beneath him.

“f-fuck, j-jungkook, so good!” you cry out, your voice trembling as your back arches off the couch. your brows pinch together, your lips parted, your entire body trembling under his touch. your eyes flutter shut, so close to rolling back, completely lost in the overwhelming sensation he’s giving you.

“yeah?” he breathes, his tone low and wrecked. “you look so fucking pretty like this, so fucking beautiful..” his pace quickens, his fingers pumping deeper, harder, pushing you closer and closer.

“that’s it, just like that,” he coaxes, as his fingers continue working inside you. his thumb presses firmly against your clit, circling it with just the right amount of pressure, driving you even closer to your release.

your breathing turns ragged, your body trembling beneath his touch as the heat coils tighter in your core. “j-jungkook, i’m gonna—”

“do it,” he murmurs, his gaze locked on your face, watching every expression, every twitch. “fucking cum for me,”

your body tenses, back arching. your walls clench around his fingers as your orgasm washes over you, waves of pleasure crashing through every nerve. you grip his wrist tightly, probably marking him, your thighs trembling as you ride out the high.

he slows his movements, letting you catch your breath, but he doesn’t pull away. instead, he watches you, his eyes dark and full of something you can’t quite place. he gently slips his fingers out, glistening with your release, and you watch, dazed, with your half-open eyes, as he brings them to his lips.

“fuck,” he mutters, licking his fingers clean, his tongue swirling around them as if savoring every taste of you. his gaze meets yours, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “you taste fucking divine.”

“jungkook,” you whisper, your voice shaky but soft, not entirely sure what to say.

but.. before you can say anything, your phone starts ringing. both of your heads snap to the table where it’s vibrating.

the contact name reads “hater,” which you both know means jimin.

your eyes flick to jungkook. his expression shifts, and his hands, which were so close to touching you again, retreat. he steps back, leaving you frowning and still catching your breath.

“shit…” he mutters, standing up quickly, like he's guilty. you push yourself up too, sitting on the couch, not caring about the mess or the fact that you're still half-naked.

“are you fucking serious right now?” you snap, your voice dripping with frustration.

he sighs deeply, rubbing a hand over his face. “just fucking pick it up.”

you scoff but grab your phone anyway, answering it and immediately putting it on speaker.

“what the fuck do you want?” you hiss.

“woah, who hurt you dumbass?” jimin’s voice is light, teasing.

you roll your eyes as jungkook silently fixes his clothes, avoiding your gaze.

“what is it?” you ask, your tone sharper than you intended.

“tell jungkook i’ll be late,” jimin says casually. “i texted him, but he wasn’t answering.”

jungkook looks around, realizing he left his phone on the kitchen counter earlier.

“is that all, brother?” you say, your voice dripping with fake sweetness, emphasizing the last word

“yeah, sister,” jimin replies mockingly, playing along. “go to sleep, it’s late, and don’t worry about jungkook.”

“care about your stupid model friends instead,” you mutter and hang up before he can say more.

jungkook exhales heavily, picking up your shorts from the floor. he places them gently on your lap, covering you, though he avoids looking at you entirely.

“what now? you’re just going to do nothing?” you demand, your voice rising with frustration.

“shut up, ___,” he says, his tone low. “we went too far. we need to stop. it’s better that we—”

“don’t tell me to shut it!” you snap, your voice breaking slightly. “you liked it just as much as i did! and—” you point at his pants, your eyes narrowing. “you’re still fucking hard, so don’t act like it didn’t mean anything.”

he groans, pressing his palm to his face. “just fucking get dressed. go to sleep.” he sighs. “we’re done here. don’t ever bring this up again.”

his words feel like a slap to the face.

“you’re just gonna walk away?” you askbut he doesn’t respond.

jungkook grabs his phone from the kitchen, heading for the front door.

“where are you even going?” you demand, anger and hurt swirling in your chest.

“out. need to cool off,” he says without looking back and walks out, the door shutting behind him.

you sit there, staring at the door.

this hurts. so. fucking. much.

what the fuck is his problem?

you want to scream, to fight, to get some kind of answer out of him, but he’s gone.

this was not okay. you can't forgive him. too fucking far.

you fucking hate jungkook.

note: wait ngl lmao i think i had a little too much fun w this ,, even though i was crying & trying to make the smut part even better 🥴

no series taglist !!

💌 permanent taglist: @annyeongbitch7 @internetrando64 @jkvias @lovieku @deluluisdasolulu @ddanasjk @onlyforyoukook @diamondjeon @nnybtitts08 @lil0u0 @butnotmontana @fr0ggieth1nk @minimoninini @whoa-jo @lola75111 @jaytheatiny @iswearimover5feetall @rispwr @genevieveeeee

@134340-kr @mar-lo-pap @fluttershypoo @kyuupii @https-mei @elinaki92 @jungkookmyoneandonlybaby @hoseokteardrop @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @jaykay-world @jmscaffeine @libra04 @beigerin @nikidream24 @svnbangtansworld @mimi1097 @kookoo-kachoo @junecat18 @iheartchanelle @rrosiitas @jjeonjjk7 @remgeolli @ty-moy-ya-tvoy @rpwprpwprpwprw

[desperate-gay]

Kristie mewis x reader panic attack or maybe a little relapse with reader and Kristie is there as her girlfriend .

Safe With You

Kristie Mewis x fem!reader

summary: during a girls’ night out, you encounter someone you never thought you’d see again, triggering a panic attack. Your best friend Kristie helps you through it and later helps reveal true feelings

“Ooo, this one right here!” Kelley yells, pointing out the downtown club. Some of the gotham girls, along with you, decided it was a beautiful night out and since you didn’t have any responsibilities the next day, it was a perfect time to go out.

“How many more do you think we’re gonna go to?” You ask, leaning over to Kristie’s ear so no other pondering friends can listen in.

“Let’s hope this will be the last.” Kristie huffs, wrapping her arm around your shoulder and dragging you along with the group.

None of the girls are drunk but most are definitely tipsy. You have only had about two and a half drinks within the past couple of hours, so you’re not feeling any effects while Kristie has only had three.

Kelley is the most drunk out of everyone, even the younglings, and when Kelley is drunk, she never wants to stop partying. Many of the girls are not protesting considering this is the first free day they have had in weeks, especially Ali with having to take care of her kids.

The group finds a table somewhat in the corner of the bar, and a few of the girls go to the bar to order drinks. Kristie and you both sit on the high-top chairs across from Midge and Jenna. Kristie and Midge are in a heated discussion on what’s the best way to style and take care of your eyebrows while you and Jenna watch them with amused smiles.

Suddenly, a prickling at the back of your neck makes you turn around and flit your gaze nervously across the crowded room, almost as if a sudden fog made its way into the bar. As much as you look, you can’t seem to find anything out of the ordinary.

Relief washes over your face when Lynn arrives with hands full of drinks, sparking cheers around the table. Sure you haven’t drank much yet, but that just gives you reason to drink more now. Once you get a hold of your drink, you begin to take multiple large gulps, shocking the girls around you.

“Damn girl, the drink isn’t going anywhere.” Lynn teases while the other girls laugh along.

Kristie just stares at you in bewilderment, not being used to this side of you. You blush under everyone’s gaze and look around the dance floor to try and remove the unwanted attention.

Within minutes, many of the girls are pulled onto the dance floor, leaving you with Kristie and Midge at the table.

“How about you? What was the last date you had?” Midge asks you since you’re the only one who hasn’t shared. You shift a little uncomfortably at the two girl’s stares, especially one being your best friend who you have grown attracted to within the past year.

“Umm, it was a blind date set up by my friend a few months ago. He was sweet and all, but I just didn’t see it going anywhere.” You shrug, taking another sip of your drink.

“What did he do? Profession wise.” Midge wonders, intrigued by your love life you barely share any detail about.

“A lawyer.”

“So let me get this straight. He was sweet, a lawyer, and a good friend of your friend. Was he ugly?”

“No, he wasn't ugly at all, it’s just, I don’t know honestly.” You exhale, rubbing your hands on the glass cup sitting on the table.

“There has so got to be more to that story, but I’ll let you off the hook. For now.” Midge teases with a daunting glare directed at you.

You didn’t even realize how silent the blonde next to you had become. You couldn’t say the real reason as to why the blind date didn’t become a second one when the reason is sitting next to you. Around the time of the date, you began to feel new feelings about your best friend, and you’re still trying to depict them.

“You never told me about that date.” Kristie states, finally speaking up.

“I didn’t think it was that important.” You say, tensing your shoulders up subconsciously at the scene. Kristie just hums, not believing you for a second but deciding to let it go.

Soon Kelley returns to the table, drunk and ditsy, claiming everyone is such party poopers. You all roll your eyes at the girl but chuckle, and soon the blonde next to you is dragged by Kelley to the dance floor.

Kristie looks at you with pleading eyes as her arm is getting tugged off, begging for you to get her out of it, but you just shrug with an entertained smile. You notice the midfielder lipping something at you with a glare, but you’re too tipsy to understand.

“So, about that lawyer.” You laugh at the younger girl’s persistence, shaking your head with a disbelief look.

“Midgey, like I told you-”

That’s when you hear it. That booming, raspy laugh just a few feet away from you. You thought you’d never have to hear that ugly sound ever again, but of course, you’re proven wrong.

You slowly turn around, and when you do, you catch eyes with someone you haven’t seen since Boston College. His sinister smirk stretches across his face as he takes a sip of his beer, eyeing you up while the fear in your eyes grows.

Pins and needles spread through your limbs, leaving you numb. The glass in your hand feels distant, as if it belongs to someone else. Your ears become muffled, blocking Midge’s worried calls out for you. And then your heartbeat. It starts to speed up five times its usual pace, causing your breathing to match its fast rate.

“Midge, what’s going on?” Ali asks, having come back to rest from all the dancing.

“I have no clue, one second we were talking and the next we weren’t.” Midge furrows her eyebrows with a worried expression, trying to figure out how to help.

“Here, help me take her outside.” Ali demands, continuing to try and grab your attention and ask if it’s okay if she touches you.

When you don’t answer, Ali softly touches your arm and when you don’t react, she wraps your arm around her shoulder to support your weight. Midge wraps her arms around your midsection once Ali stands you up, and you can’t even feel either touch.

The girls get you so close until you suddenly become deadweight in the corner of the bar, dragging the two girls down with you so you don’t get injured. Your knees curl up to your chin, and your arms wrap around your legs. Your whole body feels like TV static, numbing your mind along with it.

“What do we do? She’s clearly panicking!” Midge begins to freak out, becoming extremely worried at your state, watching tears run down your wide eyes.

“Go get Kristie.”

“What?”

“Go grab Kristie! Now, Midge!” Ali doesn’t mean to yell, but she’s not sure how long you’ll go without passing out. Midge nods her head determinedly and runs onto the dance floor through the sweaty bodies to find the midfielder.

You never thought you’d run into that pathetic excuse of a man again. The beginning of your relationship was great sophomore year, but then it began to grow more tense. Arguing about the future, miscommunications, and disagreements turned into pushes, then slaps, and finally full-on punches.

It took you getting a concussion to finally put an end to what was happening. Kristie was there from the beginning, constantly trying to get you to move in with her and leave him, but you just couldn’t. Despite the abuse, you felt as if he still loved you.

Then a few months after the breakup came the stalking and threatening. He would follow you to classes, work, and even practices just to scare you. Along with that, we would make burner accounts and threaten to lie to the dean to get you kicked from school, and show explicit photos to your friends and family.

It took Kristie speaking up for you to finally file a restraining order. Ever since then, you haven’t seen or heard a peep from the man.

“What’s going on!” Kristie’s voice cuts through the loud air, approaching your curled-up body.

“We don’t know.” Midge admits, biting her lip anxiously at the scene of Kristie trying everything to get your attention.

“Well, what the hell happened!” Kristie’s voice raises, absolutely terrified at the state you're in and wanting to do whatever she can to get you out of it.

“One second we were talking and then the next she looked around and went into this!”

“Looked around?”

The midfielder quickly glances around the room, attempting to follow in your footsteps, and that’s when she sees it. More like sees him. That same smug smirk she remembers seeing years ago.

“Kriegs, I need you to go grab security. Quickly.” Without any hesitation, Ali runs to look for bouncers while Kristie turns her glare from the man over to you with a softened look.

Your eyes are looking everywhere and nowhere all at once. They’re moving yet you can’t focus or see a thing, but when you hear that familiar soothing voice, your vision begins to unblur.

“There you are.” The blonde states, watching your gaze finally make contact with hers.

Within seconds, your breathing begins to slow, reverting back to its original pace as soon as it can, helping your body relax and unnumb. Just the sound of Kristie’s voice and the soft touch of her hand have helped tremendously, although you aren’t in the clear.

Your breaths have slowed down from before but it’s still rapid compared to the normal rate, and most of your body remains dizzy.

“What can I help you with, ma’am?” The bouncer asks, approaching you two with Ali right next to him.

“I need you to get that man out of here.” Kristie demands, pointing to the cause of all this chaos.

“We can’t kick him out without cause. We haven’t heard any complaints.” The man asserts with furrowed brows, but Kristie doesn’t seem to take it.

“Is a restraining order enough? Escort him out or I will, sir.”

Many of the girls who have now gathered around, not too close to overwhelm you, eyes widened with impressed looks and smiles as they watch the bouncer scram to escort him out.

“Wow. Don’t wanna mess with Kristie and her girl.” Nealy mumbles to a nodding Jenna.

Meanwhile, you’re finally making progress on being able to talk, hear, and breathe normally. A lot of your body remains tingly along with weakness, but the blonde girl alongside you helps you with everything.

“Here she is.” Kristie murmurs softly, her voice cutting through the haze in your mind like sunlight breaking through a curtained window. Her steady tone anchors you, and your frantic gaze finally meets hers.

“You’re okay, you’re safe. I’m right here.” She calmly says, her touch is gentle but firm, hands rubbing slow, deliberate circles on your arms.

Your chest heaves as you fight to regain control of your breathing, each inhale catching like a hiccup in your throat. But her words, her presence, they’re a lifeline. Slowly, the static buzzing in your body begins to fade, replaced by a dull ache and a tingling warmth where her hands rest on your arms.

“That’s it.” Kristie encourages, her eyes locked on yours. “Breathe with me, okay? In and out.”

You nod shakily, mimicking her deep breaths. Your lungs still feel tight, but the rhythm she sets calms the chaos in your chest. Gradually, the room sharpens around you; the distant thrum of music, the faint chatter of the girls nearby. It’s overwhelming, but Kristie keeps your focus tethered to her.

“There you go.” she says when your breathing finally steadies. “You’re doing so good, honey.”

Your heart stumbles at her words, warmth spreading through your chest despite the lingering fear. You manage a small nod, though the effort feels monumental.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, your voice hoarse and shaky. “I don’t know what happened. I saw him, and-”

“Stop, you don’t have to explain right now. It’s not your fault.” Kristie interrupts gently, shaking her head.

“She’s right, Y/n. None of this is your fault.” Midge steps closer, her face lined with concern.

You exhale shakily, the pressure in your chest lightening as you take in their words. Slowly, with Kristie’s help, you rise to your feet. Your legs wobble, lightheadedness threatening to pull you down again, but her arm is already around your waist, holding you steady.

“Easy, I’ve got you.” She says softly, her steady grip grounding you.

Her closeness, the protective strength in her touch, is almost too much to bear. Your cheeks flush a deep red, and you glance away, hiding the way her presence affects you. But Kristie notices, of course she does. Her hand lingers on your waist as her gaze searches yours.

“How about we head home, yeah?” The older girl suggests with a small smile.

“Yeah.”

—

When Kristie suggested going home, you both decided to just stay over at her apartment. It was close and for some reason comfier than yours in your opinion.

The midfielder was quick to offer you her clothes to sleep in which included a t-shirt and shorts. You were so relieved to take off the tight pants you had on along with your bra that felt like it was pushing your breasts all the way into your back.

You’re both cuddled together on the couch watching some sitcom on the TV. Cuddling isn’t new to you two, but ever since you realized your feelings for the older girl, your chest tightens and your cheeks flush whenever she gets this close.

Within minutes you’re asleep on the blonde’s chest, your cheek resting on her grey sweater and hair splattered across your face. Kristie is not too far behind, having soothed herself to sleep by threading her nails through the top of your head while the show in the background plays lightly.

The night passes in a peaceful blur, and when morning comes, sunlight streams through the window, warming your face. You squint against the brightness, groaning softly as you blink yourself awake. The warmth of Kristie’s arm draped over you lingers, grounding you in the moment, but you still try to sit up as well as you can without waking the girl.

“Good morning, beautiful.” Kristie rasps, her voice low and husky from sleep, with a sleepy grin spreading across her face as she stretches her arms over her head.

If you were half asleep before, you sure as hell aren’t now. The sound of her morning voice, paired with the pet name, sends a shiver down your spine. You’re not used to this side of her, so confident, so close. It makes your pulse race in ways you’re not sure you can control.

Kristie immediately notices the change in your posture despite only being up for a few minutes. She slowly sits up next to you, watching the side of your face and observing your reaction to her getting closer to you. When you turn, you slightly jump having not actually seen her move up close to you.

“Hi.” You manage a shaky smile, your heart still racing from the sudden closeness.

“Hi.” The girl’s lips curl into a soft grin, her blue eyes flickering between yours as if searching for something unspoken. The way she leans closer makes your breath hitch.

A new tension rises between you two as you both stare at one another with longing eyes, wanting so much more but not making a move. You don’t want to pull away. Maybe this is when something can happen between you two, but you’re too afraid to make the first move.

Suddenly, Kristie’s voice breaks the air with something unexpected.

“Please tell me to stop if I’m doing something you don’t want or like.”

Your breath catches in your throat as her words hang in the air. Kristie’s voice is quiet, almost hesitant, but there’s a certainty in her tone that makes your pulse quicken once again. Her gaze remains locked on yours, searching for any sign of hesitation.

You should say something. Anything. But all you can do is stare at her, your heart pounding in your chest like it’s trying to escape, too nervous to do something wrong.

“Kristie.” You finally whisper, unsure of where the courage to speak comes from.

Her name falls from your lips like a plea, and that’s all the confirmation she seems to need. Slowly, carefully, she closes the small space between you.

Her hand brushes against yours, the touch featherlight, as if she’s giving you the chance to pull away. You don’t. Instead, your fingers curl slightly, brushing hers in return.

“Is this okay?” She asks softly, voice trembling just enough to betray her own nerves.

“Yeah. It’s more than okay.” You nod, barely able to speak.

A small smile tugs at her lips before she leans in, her forehead resting lightly against yours. Her breath is warm against your skin, and you swear the world outside her apartment melts away. It’s just you and her now, caught in this fragile, perfect moment.

Her hand lifts to your cheek, her thumb tracing the crevices of your skin. The touch sends shivers down your spine, and for the first time, you realize just how much you’ve wanted this. Just how much you’ve been concealing these emotions.

And then, finally, she kisses you.

It’s gentle at first, her lips brushing against yours like a question, but when you don’t pull away, when you kiss back, it deepens. Your hands find their way to her shoulders repositioning and anchoring yourself to her as her fingers tangle in your hair.

Time slows. The sitcom that played throughout the night fades into white noise. All you can feel is her warmth, her touch, and the way she makes you feel like the center of the universe.

When she finally pulls back, her cheeks are flushed, and her grin is sheepish.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while.” She admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

You laugh softly, your own face warm.

“Me too.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, the tension between you two isn’t uncertainty. It’s the start of something new.

[spacegyaru]

it's almost 3 am in my country, but i have a fanfic idea for kaiser... i need to let it out;;

cw: michael kaiser x afab! reader | pure fluff / mentions of kaiser's past experiences with his dad. nothing suggestive.

imagine michael kaiser falling in love with you, the owner's daughter of that one bakery that lived across their street. that same girl who gave him free bread everyday, and that same girl who would cry whenever he was wounded and bruised.

your family isn't the richest— but you owned the best bakery in the slums area. because of that, you were often a target of bullies. they bullied you because you have everything that most slum kids didn't have. you had loving parents, you were well-fed, and your parents have stable and honest income from the family business. you were also very pretty, so a lot of people made fun of you, thinking that you are a 'spoiled ditzy princess'.

until one day, you go out for a while to play with others. there, you met him— michael kaiser. he was all bruised and wounded. and to be honest, it looked like he was going to die... if you did not help him that day.

few minutes later, you gave him some water to drink and some sourdough bread to eat and take home. that's all your family's bakery sells after all. your mother also treated his wounds.

he introduced himself as 'michael kaiser' to you and your family. to your parents, he seemed to be a nice and a timid child. but to you, he was cold and a bit hesitant to play and to be friends with you. it was almost as if he hated you.

well, that's what you thought— until there were bunch of kids coming at you, wanting to bully you, pull your hair, and just flat-out mess with you. kaiser was the one who protected you. he told them that he won't hesitate to beat the shit out of them if they mess with you.

apparently, most slum kids are scared of kaiser, which means that you were sooo protected.

and ever since then, you would give him sourdough bread... and if your store is feeling fancy, you would give him some bread rolls that your mother made.

even if kaiser protected you a lot, he was still cold towards you. you thought that he wasn't just expressive.

the truth is, kaiser actually really really liked you. but he didn't have the confidence because he sees you as an angel, and he's just... well, he's just who he is.

fast forward when both of you grew up— well, both of you were in high school when the incident happened. by incident i mean, when he was arrested for alleged stealing.

during that time, both of you were still friends. but you rarely see him because of the 'sidelines' that kept him busy. still, you try your best to keep in touch. sometimes, you would pass by their home and give him something like sourdough bread and some bread rolls.

as time went by, you grew feelings for him. you no longer see him as the friend who protected you, but he was like a knight and shining armor. sometimes, you still wonder why he hasn't let you meet his new friends tho...

one day, kaiser got arrested for stealing. your family was deeply sad about it. they knew that his father forced him to do it— and that he's not the type to do something like that.

after that, you've never heard from him again. until a year later, you've started seeing him on billboards, commercials, and etc. it seems that he's playing for a team in germany.

despite all that happened and the separation between the both of you, you felt very happy for him. whatever success he was experiencing at this point, he deserved it. you were sad that he forgot about you, but eventually, you've come to accept that both of you live in two different worlds now.

until one day, you saw a familiar figure appearing on the bakery door. his usually grumpy expression was changed into a smug and confident one.

your eyes delighted to see who it was — it was michael kaiser, your knight and shining armor, who seem to have returned to see you again. he came back for you.

note: should i make a part two of this?lol

btw this isn't proofread so i apologize in advance!

[transformers-spike]

(Not a request)

I’ve been like honestly thinking, what would certain bots call their little human partners? Like I could imagine TFA megs being “my darling” but like at the same time I don’t. Just a random ramble I hope you could help me out here bc it’s been on my mind for a while🥲

I've been discussing this question with @drunkeninlovesailor this morning and we've brainstormed a bunch - so keep in mind we've also come up with a bit of extra worldbuilding (since we don't always vibe with official sources) Honestly, it depends on how well a bot is acquainted with/willing to use human terms. TFA Megatron for example would only use "my darling" if he knows it terribly flusters the human. He obviously looks down on humanity (and this includes everyone but his human - whom he still looks down upon to a degree but shhhhh). If his planet's terms don't have the same impact, then "darling" it is. But if he were to use a Cybertronian term, he would go for "my spark" (meaning "person I cannot live without"). TFP Megatron always goes for something that's a thin line between affectionate and demeaning. Things like "little one" where you're really questioning if he views you as someone he loves or a glorified pet. To be fair he's weird with everyone - any affection he has is mixed with murderous intent. TFP Optimus would call you something that shows his respect and appreciation for you. Not big on nicknames, but I'm sure you can get him to adopt something - be it Cybertronian or human lingo TFP Bulkhead and Breakdown are well-acquainted with human media (thanks to Miko and Knock Out) - but the nicknames they choose are either obscure references or sickeningly sweet to a point it gets ridiculous. Are they aware of this? Mostly Bulkhead - Breakdown would call you cotton candy with a straight face because it's sweet so it must be affectionate, right? TFP Ratchet would refer to you as his associate and later friend until he finally figures out his feelings and admits to himself he's been pining for so long it's starting to take a toll on him. Then he'll start calling his human "my spark" in private, because he's old as balls. But also "sweetspark" if he's feeling playful. Although he's willing to adopt some human terms as well and lovingly mock you by using the most grotesquely cute nicknames when you're alone. TFP Starscream? Absolute disaster. He tries so hard but he's too self-aware about how weird it sounds to call you anything affectionate. Usually everything he uses sounds demeaning even if he starts them with "my" - ie: my fleshbag. Unless you're in private and he's feeling particularly generous, at which point he's going to see if he can use some of the human lingo he learned while scouring the internet. He's testing them out to see which ones work - this can either make or break your boner. He's trying to seduce you not call you his "honey bear" TFP Smokescreen is a virgin who's never been with anyone before (you can pry this headcanon from my cold dead hands) so he's navigating the land of pet names with even less experience. Don't let him use the internet though because he'll probably end up calling you his bitch and see nothing wrong with that. Cybertronian terms tend to be easier. He says sweetspark and acts smooth to impress you, but all it takes is a sultry voice and his entire system needs to reboot. TFP Knock Out has a good grip of human lingo and is the best at mixing human and Cybertronian nicknames. He can easily switch between sweetspark and love - my spark and darling. Heck if he wants to be a smug bitch he'll call you kid/kiddo by saying Newspark.

[minlcna]

mcgonagall's ball lessons | george. f. weasley

george weasley x muggle!fem!reader

note: i know it's been a while since i posted..tbh i lost my momentum in writing and posting and lost my inspo as well. i can't say that i love this but it's been in the drafts long enough. im thinking of starting to tkae requests but im not sure if yall want that lmk in the comments! otherwise enjoy this

synopsis: you dance with george once and all the of the sudden rumors zoom around faster than a snitch

george w

warnings: one swear word, punching pansy and draco, mentions of having kids/contraceptives (?)

word count: 2.7k

୨୧‿‿‿ 𝜗𝜚 ‿‿‿୨୧

The Yule Ball was its utmost effort for arriving, and today was the day Professor McGonagall, in all her glory, was to teach all eligible Gryfidors how to dance. 

"The Yule ball has been a tradition of..." she started, raiding her voice, warning Flich of his tampering with the gramophone. 

"...the Triwizard tournament since its inception. On Christmas Eve night, our guests and we gather in the great hall for a night of well-mannered frivolity."

"As representation of the host school, I expect each and every one of you to put your best foot forward. And I mean this literally because the Yule is, first and foremost, a dance. 

Chatter and grumbling broke out instantly. You exchanged knowing glances with Alicia next to you. This could go either two ways: really bad or just bad enough. 

"Silence," she called with strictness. 

"The house of Godric Gryffindor has commanded the respect of the Wizard World for nearly 10 centuries. I will not have you in the course of a 

behaving like a babbling bumbling band of baboons," she continued. 

You saw George lean over to Fred, and you saw the lips mimicking the shapes of McGonagall, treating her words like tongue twisters. You pursued your lips to hold in your smile. 

"Now, to dance is to let the body breathe. Inside every girl is a secret sworn Slumbers longing to burst off and take flight, and inside every boy is a lordly lion prepared to prance," she trailed off as she noticed George and Fred mumbling. 

"Mr. Weasley, it was so kind of you to volunteer. Now, from the ladies, who will it be?" she questioned as her eyes trailed face to face down the row. 

You pretended to reach into your nonexistent pocket, trying to appear busy and unsuitable choice. 

"Miss L/N, please make your way to the center." she smiled. 

You inwardly grimaced, which also showed outwardly, as evidenced by your friends' giggles and teasing eyes. You slowly stood up and made your way to the center before George. 

You weren't sure whether it had been the pressure of everyone watching and quite possibly waiting to make fun of any little thing or the fact that George Weasley looked exceptionally pretty up close. Like really pretty, really close. 

"Now, Mr. Weasley, grab L/N's waist with your right hand. No—that's your left hand—your right hand, yes." She directed patiently as the two of you awkwardly followed the directions. 

Your right hand had met with his left, and you had to slightly get on your tip toes for your left arm to grasp his shoulder comfortably. Giggles and whispers erupted as soon as your heels lifted on the ground. Your face flushed red in embarrassment. You knew your friends and the entire house of Godric wouldn't let you forget this. You were not short by any means; the Weasley twin was just too tall. 

As if the giggles and uncomfortable position of standing on your toes weren't enough to infuriate you, George smirked at your attempts to match his height and pace. You had been caught off guard when the music suddenly started playing, and rather than swaying, you had been being pulled and jerked from your position. 

Unfortunately, Godric's heavy pride coursed through you, and your determination flooded to prove yourself to the already full-on snickers and cackles, the loudest recognizably being Alicia's.

"Relax a bit, will ya, love? My hands fall off," he whispered discreetly in your ears, and your face flushed darker than George's hair. 

Thankfully, Professor Mcgonallal ceased your embarrassment by stopping you halfway and pairing everyone to learn. Each second felt excruciating, as it was the very first time you held hands with a guy—a handsome guy. 

You swore you heard Professor Mcgognall join in the giggles when you walked beside your friends, noting her eyes follow George with Fred right behind. You wondered if she knew. 

୨୧‿‿‿ 𝜗𝜚 ‿‿‿୨୧

By the time the period had ended, the entire castle had heard how the Gryffindor dance lessons proceeded. Probably record time, probably faster than anyone could ever say Merlin's saggy left bollock. 

You were already tired of Alicia and Angelina trying to match you with George despite your neverending denials of being passionately in love with him until death from just dancing with him. Now, the entire school had joined in on it. You could only grumble and protest under your breath as you became the castle's favorite gossip pastime.

Of course, the Slytherins took a rumor and ran with it. They had found a new way to taunt the Weasleys and a new toy to torment them. Any other nemesis of the twins also took part. 

One instance was when you had been rushing off to grab breakfast leftovers when you heard, "Running to meet Weasley, eh? Should've gotten up earlier to snog him in time for breakfast!"

Your first strategy was to ignore and flip people off. That hadn't been enough because the sneers got worse. You avoided any signs of ginger hear throughout the castle. The scarce accounts of you locking eyes with Geroge, and he had just given a curt nod with his permanent smirk. 

You couldn't help but scoff. Fred had helped defend you once or twice, but that was it. It's all his fault, and all he does is laugh.

You couldn't help but direct your anger towards George. You knew it was heavily misplaced, but you couldn't do anything. No amount of insults, swearing, or mummy/daddy abuses ceased the talks. If only they made it worse. 

You wanted to confront the redhead, but the words refused to form in your mind. Just the thought of speaking to him made your tongue feel heavy, and your cheeks flush with heat. Your fingers itched to intertwine with his warm ones, and your whole body yearned to be close to him. But as soon as those urges surfaced, you shook your head vigorously, side to side, until the world spun around you. Being dizzy was easier to endure than the whirlwind of those forbidden thoughts.

୨୧‿‿‿ 𝜗𝜚 ‿‿‿୨୧

You were standing in the courtyard during one of the breaks, waiting for lunch, when a sharp pain exploded at the side of your forehead. A heavy glass vial had struck you, clattering to the ground after impact.

"Hey, L/N," a taunting voice drawled. "Might wanna grab some contraceptive potions before you sleep with Weasley, or you'll end up breeding more than gnomes."

You bent to pick up the vial, your fingers curling around the cool glass as your brows furrowed in confusion. Then the realization hit, and your expression hardened into a sharp glare. The vial contained an actual contraception potion from an apothecary. Spinning on your heel, you locked eyes with the culprit: a blonde smirking devilishly, flanked by his entourage, their snickers biting at your ears.

"I'd shut your mouth if I were you," you said through gritted teeth, voice low and deadly. "Unless you want that ugly goblin shit you call a nose smashed into your skull." Your grip on the vial tightened, your knuckles blanching.

Goyle erupted in a guttural laugh but quickly silenced himself when Malfoy shot him a glare. Around you, the crowd stirred—murmurs of excitement spreading like wildfire. More students trickled into the courtyard, drawn by the rising tension, their curiosity adding weight to the charged atmosphere.

"Oh yeah?" Malfoy sneered, his lips curling in mockery. "What are you going to do? Call your filthy blood traitor lapdog to defend you?"

Pansy Parkinson's shrill giggle cut through the air. "Draco's just trying to help, you stupid Mudblood. But it looks like you'll happily pop out another Quidditch team full of losers."

The words hit like a slap to the face, and before you realized it, the vial slipped from your fingers, and your fists were flying.

The first punch landed solidly against Malfoy's jaw, snapping his head to the side. The collective gasp of the crowd barely registered in your ears as rage overtook you, a red-hot wave that blurred the edges of your vision. He stumbled back, but you weren't finished. You swung again, this time catching, hitting Pansy's nose, and then again, letting every ounce of frustration and fury you'd bottled up over the past few weeks pour into each strike.

The courtyard erupted into chaos. Malfoy's lackeys tried to pull you off, but you shoved them away. His smug smirk was gone, replaced with a wide-eyed expression of fear and pain as he weakly raised an arm to shield himself.

The crowd surged, students yelling and cheering, their voices blending into a cacophony. You didn't care. All you could see was green—your vision clouded with pure, unrelenting anger. You kept swinging, your fists aching, but it didn'tmatter. The satisfaction of each hit was the only thing grounding you.

Finally, strong hands grabbed your arms, hauling you backward. You kicked and struggled, breath coming in ragged gasps as the adrenaline coursing through you demanded you keep fighting.

"As much as I'd love for you to beat him to a pulp, love, I don't want to see you expelled." the captor of your arms whispered. Your body froze instantly, and you tried to catch a glimpse of the speaker. You noticed red hair peeking through the corners of your eyes. 

"What in Godric's name is going on here?" the demanding voice asked, her sharp gaze cutting through the chaos. The crowd instantly silenced, students shrinking back under her scrutiny. Even Malfoy's friends, who had been so vocal moments ago, averted their eyes.

You froze, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath. The adrenaline still buzzed under your skin, but McGonagall's presence was like a cold bucket of water poured over you. Slowly, your fists unclenched, and you realized your knuckles were bruised and raw, faint smears of blood marking your fingers.

Professor McGonagall's lips thinned into a hard line. "Enough. Everyone—back to your business! This is not a spectator sport!" She turned her gaze back to you and Malfoy, her expression unrelenting. "The rest of you, to the Headmaster's office. Now."

Malfoy groaned as he struggled to his feet, favoring his side. "She attacked me!" he protested, his voice nasally and strained, no doubt from the blow you'd landed on his nose.

"And I have no doubt there's more to the story," McGonagall snapped, her tone brooking no argument. "But we'll deal with that where it's appropriate. Move along, Mr. Malfoy."

୨୧‿‿‿ 𝜗𝜚 ‿‿‿୨୧

The altercation between Malfoy and his gang and you had been carefully investigated and justly judged. Professor McGonagall, despite her strict nature, was surprisingly in your favor. George had also vouched for you, following you into the rotating staircase despite your attempts to elbow him off. He called the harassment ruthless bullying. 

Parents were summoned, but despite them coming so, your highly modest and conservative mother refused to let the Parkinsons and Malfoys get a word out. To her, a lady's womanly issues were not to be discussed in the open nor ridiculed. 

With two strong defenders, your mother and your professor, you got away with just detention and could still participate in the ball.

୨୧‿‿‿ 𝜗𝜚 ‿‿‿୨୧

It was the first snow of the year, and you were trapped in the Hogwarts kitchen. You had detention every Saturday morning, wehre your task was to scrub cauldrons. You needed to buy the last bits of accessories for the ball but had asked Alicia to pick them up since you were busy scrubbing. 

Your fingers were numb from the rigor. As you brought the sponge towards you before pushing it forward, it shifted away from your hand. A frown accompanied by a tilted brow; you expected it to fall into the pot. Yet it continued to scrub and shell the cauldron—just like magic. 

The second the thought crossed your mind, your head swung in all directions. Your eyes met the fellow leaning on the door frame with crossed arms and wand out—the ever so familiar missions glint in eyes and smug smirk. 

"Hello, m'lady," he said as he went right before you. You tilted your head slightly to the side with a questioning look. 

"What?" he asked incredulously. 

"Why are you helping me? This is detention, you know," you replied, trying to gauge his purpose in visiting. 

"Yes, this is. As a man, I must, however, take responsibility for my lady's actions. You are, in fact, here because of me; is that not correct?" he replied more boisterously. 

Your cheeks burned, a combination of frustration and embarrassment.

“First of all, I’m not ‘your lady,’ and second, no one asked you to play knight in shining armor. I can scrub cauldrons perfectly fine on my own.”

George's grin widened, unfazed by your tone. “Oh, I can see that, love. You’re scrubbing so well, you’ve almost got that cauldron to sparkle like new.” He gestured to the pot that was now gleaming under the enchanted sponge’s tireless efforts. 

“But wouldn’t you rather spend your Saturday doing something less…” He paused, twirling his wand lazily, “…soul-crushing?”

You crossed your arms, glaring up at him. “And why would you care how I spend my Saturday?”

He shrugged, still smirking. “Call it a guilty conscience. Or maybe I just missed your company. You’ve been avoiding me ever since our little dance lesson, haven’t you?”

Your jaw tightened, the memory of that mortifying class flashing in your mind. “I haven’t been avoiding you,” you said stiffly.

“Oh no?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur that sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine.

“So it’s purely coincidence that every time I walk into a room, you suddenly remember an urgent errand in the opposite direction?”

You scowled, willing your heart to stop fluttering like a caged snidget. “Maybe I just don’t enjoy being the subject of every stupid joke in the castle, thanks to you.”

George’s expression softened, his smirk fading into something more genuine. “That wasn’t my intention, you know,” he said quietly. 

“I mean, I like a good laugh as much as the next bloke, but not at your expense.”

Your resolve faltered slightly, but you kept your arms crossed. “You didn’t exactly stop it, though, did you? All those rumors, all those stupid comments…”

“I didn’t stop it because I thought you could handle yourself,” George admitted, his gaze locking with yours. “You’reclever, tough, and brilliant. But maybe I underestimated how far people would take it.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and the warmth spreading through your chest was both comforting and infuriating. 

“Well,” you said finally, your tone softer than you intended, “maybe next time, don’t underestimate how annoying people can be.”

George chuckled, his usual mischief returning. “Duly noted. So, what do you say? Truce?” He extended his hand, his lopsided grin making your stomach flip.

You hesitated, eyeing his outstretched hand suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he said, his grin widening. “Just a chance to make it up to you. Starting with getting you out of this dungeon and into the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer. My treat.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m still in detention, Weasley.”

“Details,” he said with a dismissive wave of his wand. “I’m a master of mischief, remember? If anyone asks, I’ll say I kidnapped you.”

Despite yourself, a small smile tugged at your lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously charming,” he quipped, holding his hand out again.

This time, you took it—his hand warm and steady in yours. It was the second time you’d ever held a boy’s hand, and somehow, it felt like the first time it truly mattered.

Professor McGonagall watched from a shadowed corner of the kitchen, arms crossed, her lips twitching upward in an uncharacteristic smile.

"Ridiculously charming, indeed," she muttered softly to herself, adjusting her spectacles. "I always knew those two would find their way to each other."

With a final glance at the pair sneaking out of the dungeon, hand in hand, she turned briskly on her heel. Her work was done—for now. After all, guiding her Gryffindors, even in matters of the heart, was just another part of the job.

[waynes-multiverse]

Eeeeek, I'm bursting with excitement! I wanna know so badly what happens next. I've been hurrying to get the kid to bed to read this 😂😂

You follow his lead with your own rifle, falling into step with him through the forest clearing. It’s a beautiful day in late November. Already you can see the edge of frost on the shrubs and half-barren trees. The ground is littered with dead leaves painted in browns, oranges, and dappled with reds.

I love this description btw Really painted a picture in my head 😍👏

You snort. “Right. Think I’ll just leave you for the bears…”

Ouch. That line probably haunted her afterward 😂🙈 (but I loved their banter! You can totally see they have a close and loving relationship 💕) And her dad's optimism and "fate" was so adorable ☺️

You don’t see the elk, and soon enough, you don’t see your dad either. You do hear a whistling on the wind, and the cold of it cuts right through your coat.

Goosebumps... 👀

Dean continues to listen intently with his brows furrowed.

Ah, our boy entered work mode 🤓

Dean has packed up his supplies and put on his winter gear. You watch him from the living room sofa, trying to hide your unease. You know he’s doing this for you, but there’s part of you that doesn’t want to see him leave, for his own sake, and selfishly for yours.

Oh God 🙈 No, I can't watch him leave alone. At least get Sam!!! Oh God, no, no, no, no... 🫣

I also realized in that moment why my readers are usually "from the same foxhole" because this is exactly what I can't do. Freaks me the fuck out and gives me so much anxiety. Like, I have to be there 😂 I don't know how you do it. Bravo, friend 😅👏

“You shouldn’t be going out there alone,” you say.

Nooo, but you shouldn't follow him either... With the broken ankle 👀

“If I’m not back inside a week, you need to ration out the supplies here as best you can. That new meat in the fridge should last you a while.”

A week?!?!?! *gasps*

By new meat, you have to assume he means the bear.

Ooooh, btw, super interesting what you said about the bear meat! I figured something like this. They did wear bear fur, right? And I know people back then never wasted anything, so makes sense they'd eat the meat, too 😄

Right now, you don’t really give a shit about what he’d rather, but you don’t say so.

I cackled 😂 Love her feistiness!

After the first three days, you’ve managed to clean the entire cabin, top to bottom.

Oh God! I'd die worrying... 🙈🤣

On Day Four, you create a nest of pillows and blankets in the middle of the living room floor.

Aww 😭😭 Poor thing... 😢 (Loved how she explained not taking his room. While invasive, I think if Dean came back to this in his room, he would've melted 🫠🫶)

Then, you hear the sound of a lock turning, before the front door shoves open.

THANK FUCKING GOD!!!!!

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your hair. “Believe me, I am.”

I knew it was a long shot, especially when her father wasn't with Dean, but still breaks my heart for her 💔😢

He brushes your cheek with his thumb, collecting your tears there. You glance down at his plush lips again, your own parting with a breath. His hand moves to cup your cheek, framing the side of your face. Please… He finally drags you to him in a kiss.

The anxiety is long forgotten. All is forgiven... *sighs dreamily* 😍😍

“Sorry…we can’t do this,” he says, with difficulty. He sits upright and nearly makes you fall over in the process.

Oh no, you come back here, young man!!!

It wouldn't be Dean, though, without the "you can't date me, I'm dangerous and not good enough" freak out 😂

“I don’t even own this place. Besides my car, I ain’t got much of anything to give.”

Legit crying right now 😭😭😭 This is exactly why we always want what's best for him in fanfics. He deserves it so much 🥺

Or at least, it’s heat of a different kind, as his strong hands once again find your waist. They hold you still, but also hold you to him.

Love that little detail. Makes such a huge difference ❤️

Oooooh, I so can't wait to read the finale now! This is absolutely amazing, Alex! It's got the right amount of angst and heartbreak, only to haul me back into this sweet cabin romanticism 😍🤍🤍🤍

Against the Wind - Part 3

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: Merry Christmas! I'm dropping this chapter a day early for you guys. Now, here's the full story, and what Dean is going to do about it…

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: True Mates @jacklesversebingo

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.8K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, mentions of blood, hint of spice.~

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 3: Nothing Left to Burn

“We should start heading back,” you say, looking up at the mid-afternoon sky. It was starting to dip toward the top of the trees in the distance. “It’s going to take a couple of hours to get back before nightfall.”

“Yep, it’s about that time.” Your dad groans as he starts to haul himself back to his feet, where you two had been taking a rest against a tree. “Jesus, I need a new pair of knees. Help your old man, would ya?”

You smirk as you help the middle-aged alpha to his feet. His joints pop and his back cracks as he stretches his arms high.

“Damn, Dad. You’re creakier than the trees,” you quip.

He tosses you a wry look. “Just you wait. In a few years, after wrangling a couple of pups, you’re gonna feel my pain.”

“A few years?” you laugh. “Did I miss the part where I actually met a decent guy, let alone one worth mating?”

“Oh, you’ll find him,” your dad nods, slinging his rifle back over his shoulder. “Or he’ll find you, like your mother did with me.”

You follow his lead with your own rifle, falling into step with him through the forest clearing. It’s a beautiful day in late November. Already you can see the edge of frost on the shrubs and half-barren trees. The ground is littered with dead leaves painted in browns, oranges, and dappled with reds.

“You met her in college. It’s not like you guys defied fate,” you say.

“Yeah, but if she hadn’t walked into my psychology class by mistake, and stolen my latte at the campus café, maybe you wouldn’t be here,” he teases. 

You huff and roll your eyes. Yes, your parents are a walking cliché. And by far, your dad’s the bigger sap.

“I’m telling you. Sometimes, the universe does us a solid,” he says, reinforcing his point with a literal pointed finger your way. You push it away from your face in exasperation.

“You might wanna watch where you’re going,” you say, “before you roll your ankle on another pebble.”

“You kidding me?” he exclaims. “That thing was the size of my fist! You’re lucky I didn’t break an ankle. Make you carry me all the way back to the car.”

You snort. “Right. Think I’ll just leave you for the bears…”

You trail off when a sound reaches you and your father. The sound of leaves crunching in the underbrush, quick and light. Your father’s shoulders straighten with alertness, the alpha’s head cocking toward the sound.

“Maybe I spoke too soon about the bears,” you whisper. He shakes his head.

“Nah, too light. It’s probably an elk.” He tosses you a smile. “We’ll have one hell of a haul to bring home, plus a good story to tell your mom.”

Your mother, the vegan veterinarian?

“Yeah, because she loves elk meat.”

“Would you quit being a smartass for two minutes? You go a little west. I’ll see where it’s at,” he says.

He quietly wracks his rifle and steps away from the clearing, farther into the woods. You do what he says, veering west. You don’t see the elk, and soon enough, you don’t see your dad either. You do hear a whistling on the wind, and the cold of it cuts right through your coat.

Unease prickles down your spine, though you don’t know why.

“Dad?” you whisper-yell, trying not to spook whatever animal might be out there.

A gunshot rings out, along with your dad’s voice in a shout. Your eyes widen in alarm, and you call his name, taking off in a run to find him.

You end up rising over a hill you hadn’t crossed before, but you see your dad below; you recognize his bright blue puffer jacket that Mom got him for his birthday. You call his name, and he looks up at you with fear in his eyes.

Not for himself, but for you.

“Go, get out of here!” he shouts and waves you off.

“What? What is it?!” you yell.

He shakes his head, like he’s unable to answer your question. “Run! Run and don’t stop!”

He moves further into the denser trees until you can no longer make him out. With a frustrated huff, you sprint down the hill and try to follow his tracks with your gun at the ready. On the wind, in the distance, you still hear his voice.

Until it cuts off abruptly, along with the terrible cracking of bone.

You gasp and halt in your steps. What the fuck was that?

Tears fill your eyes and blur your vision. Despite what you heard, you realize just how very alone you are in the clearing. Fear and adrenaline make your breath tremulous and shallow, but you can’t just give up. You search for a while longer, making yourself hoarse calling out to your father.

No matter what direction you take, you never find him.

“I ran back to town to get the rangers,” you say, brushing a couple of stray tears from your cheeks. You sniff, licking your lips and swallowing a hard lump of emotion in your throat.

Dean continues to listen intently with his brows furrowed.

“It was too late,” you sigh. “He disappeared. They explained it away, thought a grizzly bear got him, but I know it wasn’t a damn bear.” 

You shake your head as the tears come harder and faster, all over again. Dean’s jaw clenches in sympathy.

“No one believed me about what I heard, not even my mom,” you confess. Your mother had been too distraught to entertain “anything else.” No matter how strongly you’d felt about your suspicions, you understood that she just wanted to put your father’s death behind her after his funeral. Part of you had stopped believing yourself. 

A stronger part of you hadn’t been able to let it go, however. So you had to come back here and try to find any trace of your father. 

When you finally run out of words, you see the proverbial gears turning in Dean’s eyes. 

“What’re you thinking?” you hazard to ask. You can’t help but reach out and grab at his wrist. “Do you…do you believe me?”

Dean’s gaze softens a fraction. He lays his larger hand over yours.

“Yeah, I do,” he says. “I’m willing to bet on what took him too.”

He squeezes your hand before he lets you go and gets up from his seat. He soon returns with his father’s journal in hand. He reclaims his spot across from you, sitting close to your thigh on the end of the chaise. His gaze falls away from your face to the journal in hand, and he flips it open to a page he knows from memory. You suck in a subtle breath to steel yourself when he turns it toward you—to the very page that had given you nightmares the first night you read it. 

Wendigo. 

“Nasty son of a bitch,” he says. “It hibernates for decades at a time, but when it surfaces, it knows how to get through long winters like this. It takes a handful of people at a time, feeding on its victims slow.”

You feel sick at that, but still, his words elicit a sliver of hope.

“So there’s a chance he could still be alive,” you say, in a brighter voice. Dean gives you a measured look, dragging a hand over his mouth.

“Look, I’m gonna be straight with you,” he says. “It’s been months, right?”

You nod, though you realize what he’s saying. Don’t get your hopes up.

“But there’s a chance,” you insist, with tears in your eyes. Dean holds your gaze for a moment, and he nods. He squeezes your knee this time, then shuts the journal with one hand as he moves to stand.

You follow him on your crutches over to the kitchen. He pulls out a drawer and retrieves a folded-up map. Tossing the journal on the kitchen counter, he opens up the map and lays it out flat next to the sink. It’s a map of the mountain, and the entire forest surrounding the mountain of Big Sky. Dean’s eyes flick up to yours.

“Where did it happen?”

Dean has packed up his supplies and put on his winter gear. You watch him from the living room sofa, trying to hide your unease. You know he’s doing this for you, but there’s part of you that doesn’t want to see him leave, for his own sake, and selfishly for yours.

“Try not to go outside again unless you absolutely friggin’ have to,” he warns. “And if you do, don’t go too far. Make sure you take a weapon, preferably a gun and a knife.”

“Dean, I know,” you reply. You get up and hover by the couch while he finishes lacing his snowshoes and hooks his backpack on. You’re unable to hide your concern.

“You shouldn’t be going out there alone,” you say. 

Dean tosses you a grin. It has the shade of how he was with you before the “journal” incident—self-assured, a hint teasing.

“Don’t worry. This isn’t exactly my first solo mission,” he says, though his devil-may-care attitude soon subsides into something more serious. “If I’m not back inside a week, you need to ration out the supplies here as best you can. That new meat in the fridge should last you a while.”

By new meat, you have to assume he means the bear.

“When you’re healed up, you can make your way down the mountain and back to town with that map I left for you. Kitchen counter,” he says.

Your frown worsens. You step closer to him with the pretense of closing and locking the front door for him after he leaves.

“Dean,” you say, stopping him at the door. He turns to look at you over his shoulder. You hesitate, fidgeting slightly, but you gain your courage.

“If you don’t come back, I’m going to find you,” you warn him.

Dean frowns. He turns to you fully and tilts his head as if to say, come again?

“No, you’re not, Omega. You understand me?”

His terseness doesn’t scare you anymore. You glare up at him, quite literally standing your ground.

“You didn’t leave me out there when you didn’t even know me. You think I’d do that to you?” you counter.

At that, Dean has to pause, tilting his head slightly. He almost smiles at your stubbornness, and just like that, his annoyance dissipates. It softens him, making him reach for your arm in an assuring squeeze.

“I appreciate the thought, but trust me. I’d rather you look out for you,” he says.

Right now, you don’t really give a shit about what he’d rather, but you don’t say so. It’s written across your face anyway. Dean’s mouth tugs at a smile.

“All right, I’m out,” he says. “Save me some of Yogi in there.”

You huff, but you shut the door behind him after he steps out onto the porch, down the steps, and beyond. You move to the living room window and watch him get farther and farther away from the cabin. 

Despite the crackling fireplace, you begin to feel cold inside. 

After the first three days, you’ve managed to clean the entire cabin, top to bottom. With the “new meat,” you make a large batch of soup to last you throughout the week. You freeze a couple of servings for Dean.

For when he gets back. 

You try to fill up your time in other ways, like attempting, and failing, and trying again more successfully to make bread from scratch. You haven’t binge-watched every season of The Great British Bake-Off for nothing.

Then you organize all of the alpha’s books by author. You wash all the laundry you can find and fold everything neatly on his bed, and you put away the couple of sweaters you’ve borrowed from him into your own dresser. 

On Day Four, you create a nest of pillows and blankets in the middle of the living room floor. In your anxiety, it’s a reflex you can’t help. Your initial instinct was to nest in his room, but you thought that was too invasive of his privacy, so the living room was your next best option. At least his scent is still somewhat imbued into his favorite chair, and around his records. (You do steal another shirt of his to sleep with though.)

On Day 8, your worry becomes a living thing. You pace the living room and the kitchen on your crutches, probably wearing down the wooden ends of them while you debate what to do. Despite what Dean told you to do if he didn’t get back, you know you’re not just going to leave him out there. But the reality is, you have a problem of mobility.

With a frustrated huff, you decide to try setting your problem foot down normally. Your ankle hurts, a sharp pain shooting up your calf and nearly sending you to the floor.

“Fuck!” you gasp, both in shock and aggravation.

You know this isn’t just a sprain. At best it could be a fracture, since no bone is protruding under the skin. It still means you shouldn’t go after him either. 

But you’ll have to try. 

After you manage to clamber back onto your feet using the crutches, you put together some supplies, including the extra med kit in case he’s hurt. (Or in case something happens to you while you’re out there.) This is a bad idea, you think, even as you heave on your jacket.

Then, you hear the sound of a lock turning, before the front door shoves open. 

A yelp of surprise escapes you, though you soon realize that it’s Dean, looking worn down and ragged, but alive. 

“Home, sweet home,” he says wryly, but he looks relieved to see you too.

You help him sink down onto the chaise, where he stretches out with a groan. He tips his head back on the cushion. His jacket is torn in a few places. Blood has dried on his cheek, his neck, and near his hairline, and you worry about where else he might be hurt. 

You quickly go to the kitchen and pour a bowl of warm water and grab a hand towel. You bring it all back to Dean, where you set your supplies on the floor and sit down beside him on the cushion.

“Are you okay?” You try to calm down your racing heart (and the nauseous feeling in your stomach) as you help him work open his jacket, followed by his shirt. Discreetly, your eyes take in the expanse of his tanned skin and pebbling nipples exposed to the cool air, even with the fire roaring nearby.

“Yeah, just peachy,” he says. 

You smile a little. You take the towel, dampen it, and begin to clear the blood from his cheek, his neck, and the upper part of his torso—even his scuffed hands. Then you squeegee out the blood in the bowl and continue your task. Dean subtly watches you, his gaze a bit softer than usual.

He eventually looks you over with a frown as he takes in the way you’re dressed, and then the backpack by the door. 

“What, about to go for a little afternoon stroll?” His sarcasm turns to annoyance. “Didn’t I tell you to stay put until you can actually walk?”

Your mouth flattens into a line, but any anger you might’ve felt is waylaid by your relief. It brings tears to your eyes. 

“I thought something happened to you,” you say.

Dean hesitates. Your hand has stilled on his chest. He softens a little more, grasping your hand in his larger one. 

“I’m fine,” he says. “The job’s done.”

Your eyes widen. “You found the…thing? The wendigo?”

His mouth pulls at a cocky grin, tempered only by his tiredness, and the way he’s looking at you. “Sure did. Tried to take a chunk outta my ass, but a little aerosol deodorant and a lighter’s all you need to barbecue that ugly son of a bitch.”

You smile in amusement, but all too soon, it fades.

“Did you find my dad?” you ask.

Dean’s expression sobers as well.

“Yeah, I think so.” His face gentles. “Was he wearing a blue puffer jacket?”

Your lips tremble. As that horrible realization dawns, you break down into tears. You already know from his tone that your father was dead when he found him. 

Dean guides you down to him by your shoulder and wraps his arms around you. You bury your face into his neck, and your body shakes with quiet sobs.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your hair. “Believe me, I am.”

He holds you close, warm and secure. He allows you to stay there as long as you need, where you feel safe, even if this world has become a colder, darker place. 

After a few minutes longer, your intense sobs begin to subside. You don’t mean to, but you turn your nose into Dean’s neck, scenting him on reflex. It calms you down, but it has the unintended effect of arousing him. The alpha rumbles in pleasure. 

You blink in surprise and lean back enough to see his face. Dean’s lips press together as he looks down on you; he seems embarrassed, but you also see the heat reflected in his gaze, so intense in those forest greens. Your face begins to warm in a blush.

He brushes your cheek with his thumb, collecting your tears there. You glance down at his plush lips again, your own parting with a breath. His hand moves to cup your cheek, framing the side of your face. Please…

He finally drags you to him in a kiss. 

It’s heady and passionate, and also comforting. Your fingers wind into his hair, your nails scraping along his scalp. He growls as his arm tightens around your waist. You shiver in delight.

You press a hand to the center of his chest, giving you leverage to rise up and slide your thigh over his legs. There you sink into his lap. Your breasts pillow against his chest when you lay on top of him, your elbows digging into the cushion on either side of his head. His hands move down your body, feeling down your sides, squeezing your hips, and then your ass. You hum into his mouth and roll your hips into his. Already you feel him hardening through his jeans.  

But somehow he breaks away from your kiss, even though your hands are still in his hair. 

“Sorry…we can’t do this,” he says, with difficulty.

He sits upright and nearly makes you fall over in the process. He grabs your arm before you tip over, but he keeps himself at arm’s length from you after you’re forced to slide off his lap, sitting on the end of the chaise instead. Your eyes glisten with hurt and confusion. 

“Why?” is all you can ask.

He doesn’t want to answer. 

“Dean?” you ask, inching towards him. He raises a hand to keep you at bay.

“Just…it’s not a good idea, okay?” he says, with the clenching of his jaw.

That cuts into you even more. Your heart pulses with pain.

“Do you know what your scent is to me?” you ask, in a voice slightly trembling. You glance at the fireplace that has dimmed to embers. “It’s better than that fire at full blaze. Every time I went camping with my dad, that’s what I loved the most. Sitting by that fire, talking, laughing, and for the millionth time, telling the story of when I gave my sister micro bangs in her sleep when I was ten.”

You wipe a stray tear from your eye, but you respect the distance he’s put between you two.

“The second I met you, I knew what this was,” you say. “I think you know it too.”

Dean shakes his head. His face betrays his wariness, his desire, and his obstinance. 

“Look…even if that’s true, you don’t want this with me,” he says. His handsome face becomes marred by a frown, his brows knitting together. “I don’t even own this place. Besides my car, I ain’t got much of anything to give.”

You shake your head in dismay. “I know that’s not true.”

“I’m not bullshitting,” he says. “Listen…I’ve never had much. And what I did have, I found a way to lose. I’ve let my people down. Just about everyone I’ve ever…”

You can’t help but reach out a hand for him, your heart hurting, but he leans away, pressing himself back against the seat. It cuts even deeper into you; now though, you wonder if it’s because he feels the same gut feeling you do when he’s this close—close enough to touch, but almost afraid of the burn.

“They’ve been hurt, almost always because of me.” His voice shakes imperceptibly, with a wry, humorless turn of his lips. “So take it from me, sweetheart. You’ll wanna steer clear.”  

“Dean,” you say. You expel a breath, digesting his words, while thinking of what you want to say.

“I’ve never not felt safe with you,” you confess. “Even when I screwed up and drove you crazy, I’m sure, I knew you’d never hurt me. The same way I know…”

You reach out a tentative hand to lay in the center of his chest, over his heart. Your thumb brushes the edge of his strange tattoo, over the dark ink in his skin. 

“You’re my mate. My one, true mate in this world,” you say, meeting his eyes. “And I want to know you.”

You see inner conflict in the depths of Dean’s eyes, dark green and troubled. You take a chance and lean in, brushing your cheek against his, nuzzling, laying a soft kiss to his cheek. 

“Omega,” he warns, but the grit in his voice has little heat.

Or at least, it’s heat of a different kind, as his strong hands once again find your waist. They hold you still, but also hold you to him. Your gentle affection is making him ache, deep in the shadowy cavern of his chest. He’d never admit it, but loneliness had set in there, burrowed deep with a stronghold on his heart. Without knowing, you’ve been carving it out with those gentle hands. 

You now slide your hands up his chest and over his shoulders, warm palms on his skin. 

“Alpha, I want to know you,” you insist. Quiet, but steady, your voice is a mere brush of words near his ear, against his cheek. “Please.” 

Dean’s brows furrow as he briefly shuts his eyes tight. With your whispered plea, the brittle chain of his restraint finally snaps free. 

He cradles the back of your head and guides you back into a feverish kiss.

AN: Sorry to cut it off there lol, but the big (steamy) finale is coming up next week! Perhaps a little earlier than Friday. 😘

Next Time:

“Were you nesting, Omega?” he teases, between the sinful meetings of his lips with yours. You hum your affirmation before his tongue swipes across your lower lip, seeking entrance.

You open yourself to him in more ways than one; you slip your hands across his naked shoulders and explore the smooth planes of muscle, the dips and softness in between. You encourage him to lower down, to cover you with the length and broadness of his frame. His weight is a welcome one between your thighs and against the softness of your body.

“Was worried about you,” you whisper a confession against his lips. Dean briefly pauses, meeting your eyes.

“Thanks for waiting up,” he says, with a hint of a smile.

Your lips curve upwards in return.

▶️ Keep reading: Part 4 (Finale!)

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Series Masterlist

Jacklesverse Bingo Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist 

Follow @zepskieswrites (with notifications on) to get notified every time I drop a new story or chapter. 💜

Dean Winchester Tag List

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl

@thebiggerbear @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @deans-spinster-witch

@deans-baby-momma @sanscas @kaleldobrev @spnwoman @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

@globetrotter28 @adoringanakin @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdean @iprobablyshipit91

@chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @spnfamily-j2 @pieandmonsters

@deansbbyx @sarahgracej @chernayawidow @mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @mxltifxnd0m

@my-stories-vault @kayleighwinchester @rizlowwritessortof @samslvrgirl @tortureddarkstar

@tmb510 @syrma-sensei @artemys-ackles @malindacath @mrsjenniferwinchester

@jc-winchester @charmed-asylum @fromcaintodean

[rafeysdeer]

imperfect for you (aka insecure reader x comforting rafe)

kook!reader x rafe cameron

prompt: a party that was supposed to be relaxing and to clear the head goes terribly wrong, leaving a very anxious and insecure reader, good thing she has her very caring boyfriend who knows exactly how to take care of her.

a/n: okay, that's the first time i write for rafe, i really like obx and rafe, so i tried my best in here, but i didn't really like it, i think it's bcs it's my first time writing about him. english is not my first language, i hope you guys like it 💗

You weren't exactly excited about going to this party, but you knew your boyfriend was, and you didn't want to be a party pooper, and at least you'd be with him, nothing bad would happen if you gave up and went to a party, right?

Well, you were wrong, terribly wrong, even though you were a kook, you never exactly fit in, you never got the right friends, and even though you were pretty, guys just didn't seem to be interested in you.

That was until, Rafe Cameron laid eyes on you, in your little sundress, having a drink at the club, just looking for some peace, you looked almost ethereal in his eyes, and he just knew you were meant to be together, it took a while to convince you of that. You spent most of the talk thinking it was some bad joke, because there was no way, Rafe Cameron, the king of kooks, was there, talking to you, interested in you and not on your hot friend, or literally anyone else.

You two get along almost instantly, his charm had you wrapped around his finger, and you loved it.

It had been months since you two started dating, but you still didn't feel like you fit into his social circle. So when, the first moment he separated from you at the party, a girl purposely bumped into you, spilling her drink on your short dress and whispering 'Whore' in your ear, you were sure.

Rafe didn't get it why you suddenly looked so upset, but he wanted everything, but to see his girl upset, so when he suggested for you, that you two go home, you happily headed towards the truck.

"Sweetheart, you need to talk to me. What the hell happened that you suddenly look like a kicked puppy?" and it only took his playful words for you to burst into tears in the passenger seat, it wasn't just the girl or the stained dress, everything looked too much, and you looked so small, a girl being an bitch was all you needed to lose it.

Rafe immediately looked at you with his blue eyes filled with concern. "Hey, love, I was just kidding, you don't look like a kicked puppy, I swear." he says trying to understand what happened to make you break down.

You looked up at him, your pretty eyes shining with tears. "I just-, I don't feel like I fit in, Rafey, like i fit right in with you, but i'm just unwanted by everyone else," she says, her voice cracking with tears. "I tried to fit in, but I've been around these people my whole life, and they've never liked me, and now I feel like I'm holding you back, or making them look down at you"

Now, he looks like a kicked puppy as he looks at you with a worried expression. "Honey, you don't have to fit in, those people at the party, they don't like me either, they look at me like shit too and that's not your fault, not at all, you don't need to fit in with them because you think you have to because of me, the only person I need by my side, is you."

She blinks her bright eyes at him, as if the words had run away from her mind. The car stops in front of the house, and he gets out, opening the door for her, greeting her with a kiss before the words even come back to her. "I love you, no matter what any of those assholes think, because you're the one who's here for me, not them."

She looks at him, looking almost wonderstruck, a smile breaking across her face, wrapping her arms around his neck. "The only person I need is you, Rafe," she says, knowing that the feeling was mutual. "What do you say we go inside, put you in some comfy clothes, and watch Sex and the City?" She laughs at how well he knows her as they walk into the house, his hand around her waist.

"Sounds perfect."

[glamourscat]

TAKE ONE | actor! TIM DRAKE x actor! reader

rivals to ..? | pt 1? | gn! reader

“How can you not understand?” Tim yelled at you, his voice rising above the relentless rain pouring down on both of you.

“I love you. I am so madly, pathetically, in love with you. And yet, you keep running back to him. Back to that damned jerk, over and over again. While me— I’m… your stupid best friend,” his voice cracked, raw and vulnerable.

“I’ve always been here, and you know that. Every late night holding you while you cried, every single t—” His words broke off as your lips collided with his, cutting him off with the force of something long overdue. Something he had dreamed of for months, no, years.

His hands moved instinctively to your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss was hungry yet soft, an overwhelming intensity that sent shivers down his spine. Goosebumps on his skin.

“And… cut!” the director’s voice broke through the moment, followed by an applause from the crew. “Great job, everyone. That’s the last scene for today. Go get changed. Meeting in room 2 in an hour.”

The crew began dismantling the props, the artificial rain stopped and the two of you stood there, still drenched, now with an awkward distance between you.

It wasn’t that he hated you. But he couldn’t stand you either. He’d been in this industry since he was a kid, nepotism, some would say. But haters will always be haters. Not his fault he was born loaded. Still, now at 23 he found himself needing more substantial roles. Filled with drama and twists. And, of course, his on-screen love interest had to be you.

The same person who keeps stealing Golden Globes right out of his grasp. Award after award, casting roles, and even his damn agent. So, no. He didn’t hate you. But, if he had to describe you, he would probably say you’re that annoying itch under your skin that not matter how much you scratch it, never really leaves.

Yet… there was something about you. Maybe it was the constant bickering that spilled from the script into your daily interactions. Maybe it was the fact that this kiss scene had taken six exhausting takes, but he couldn’t stop thinking about your lips on his.

And though he refused to admit it, he was beginning to crave this feeling. That terrified him.

“Why are you following me?” he asked flatly, his back still to you as you trailed behind him. “Your trailer’s on the other side,” he added, his tone deliberately detached.

“I told you this morning, but you never listen,” you scoffed. “My trailer’s out of order. There’s a leak in the bathroom, so they moved some of my stuff into yours for now.”

He stopped, turning to face you. His expression flickered between annoyance and disbelief.

“And there was no other trailer they could put you in?”

“Obviously not,” you replied, sarcasm dripping from your tone.

He scoffed, resuming his pace as you followed. When he reached his trailer, he stepped inside without a backward glance, immediately peeling off his soaked clothes.

“Come in, close the door, but don’t lock it otherwise we get stuck in.” he said nonchalantly, walking around in nothing but his boxers

“You have no decency,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as you stepped in.

He smirked, glancing over his shoulder. His blue eyes trialing over your figure. “You’ve seen me in far less, considering the other scenes we had to shoot. Don’t be such a prude.”

“It’s not about being a prude. You’re just…, never mind. Jerk.” you grumbled under your breath, pulling off your drenched clothes too.

He turned, and his smirk widened. “Well, that’s a choice,” he teased, eyeing your Batman underwear, barely concealing his laugh.

“If you say anything, I swear, you’re done for,” you warned, trying not to laugh yourself.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, a chuckle slipping past his lips. “Whatever you say,” he hummed, turning back to dry himself off.

But in his mind, he was already storing this moment away for future need. Oh, he was absolutely going to use this against you one day.

Pt2? 👀

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[cosmic-evening]

ᯓ★ in love with my future

hawks x gn!reader

based on my future by billie eilish

a/n: request from the lovely @bluebouquetharmony! i accidentally deleted your request and idk how to get it back im so sorry 😭 but thank you so much for it!! i hope this does u justice

hawks can't seem to focus.

ever since he was six, he'd been training under the hero public safety commission. he can't remember a lot of it, opting to just go through the motions every day. he's never felt the need to talk to anyone other than his mentors. sure, a lot of people his age were training alongside him, but the commission always told him not to waste his time.

"you're going to be the best, hawks. don't you want to be like endeavor? he never wasted his time with useless extras."

so hawks never did.

until you.

you started at the commission quite a bit older than the usual kids. when you walked in, he found himself staring. he felt the sudden urge to talk to you. to be your friend.

he'd never felt like this before. struggling to push the feeling down, he hurriedly looks away before you catch him staring.

a week into your training, hawks breaks his resolve.

he walks up to you during lunch one day.

"hi, i'm hawks. mind if i sit here?"

you look up, surprised that hawks, who you always found to be cold and intimidating, had talked to you.

"hey, i'm l/n. and sure, you can sit." you move over, giving him some room.

you're a little confused. when you arrived, people had told you not to bother hawks. "he's dead serious about this," they said. "he wants to be the next endeavor or something."

but really, you think, as hawks eats his sandwich, some of the sauce lingering on the corners of his lips, he's not all that bad.

slowly, but surely, you become hawks' best friend. you spend every breaktime together. you train together, something hawks previously never did with anyone else other than his mentor. he tutors you, you make sure he eats every day.

no one understands how you did it. the commission is not happy you provided a distraction in hawks' life.

months go by, and the two of you become a little more than friends. you both agreed to keep it a secret: the commission was not happy as it was. but the two of you were skilled in stealth training. it was easy to slip the commission's notice.

it's after a long day of training, and you're tangled in hawks' bedsheets together, when he says it.

"i love you, y/n."

it's decisive. like he's sure, that he's waited a long time to say this.

you smile softly.

"i love you too, hawks."

he breaks out in a smile too, then holds your hand in his own.

"please," he whispers, "call me keigo."

there's a wobble in his voice. you knew that the commission had told him not to tell anyone his real name. mentally, you pocket this information in your head.

"i love you too, keigo."

your relationship lasts two months. it turns out that your stealth training needed some work.

all good things come to an end, you think, as the hero public safety commissioner drags you away from keigo's room.

the two of you had just been in bed, about to go to sleep, when two security guards had barged in and dragged you away.

you'd been found out.

your terrified stare meets keigo's.

if you hadn't let your guard down, would things be different? if you hadn't snuck your way into keigo's room so often, would they have ever found out?

you keep your eyes trained on keigo's heartbroken expression, trying not to wince at the security guard's fingers digging into your shoulder. the commissioner has her cold glare fixed on you, her arms barely restraining keigo from running to you.

"sorry," she sneers, as you get dragged out of the building. "he should be in love with his future, not you."